


Take Only What You are Given

by OverlordYue



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Power Imbalance, dub-con because of captor/captive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-10-03 18:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverlordYue/pseuds/OverlordYue
Summary: The Deputy is taking over Hope County, and Jacob Seed has found himself under the control of the Whitetail Mountain’s Enforcer, Staci Pratt. A role-reversal AU for the heralds and their prisoners.





	1. Chapter 1

When the self-proclaimed Followers of Peace came for Joseph Seed and his family, what was left of the Faithful was gathered in the church, clutching at each other’s hands and listening to the storm outside. In a few short months, Joseph’s following had been reduced from over a hundred to just under two dozen. The rest had fled Hope County, had joined the Followers, or were dead.

Jacob Seed had watched as the light dimmed in his brother’s eyes with every follower that disappeared, powerless to do anything except try to protect the Faithful that still remained.

Joseph was talking more than preaching now, trying to offer comfort, speaking of peace and the wrath that would befall the corrupt, the violent.

“They may have power now, but when Death comes to seek them, God will not know them.”

These words gave Faith comfort, John and Jacob less so. John was antsy behind Joseph as he spoke to the Faithful, and Jacob wished he’d gotten his brothers and sister out when he had the chance, but Joseph would never have left while a single Follower remained behind, and none of his siblings would have left him to face the wrath of The Deputy alone.

Jacob heard them coming first-- the muffled sounds of shouting and trucks moving through the mud towards the church. Soon the Faithful could hear them too, and Joseph went silent as they listened to their doom approach.

“We have to get out,” Jacob reached for Joseph, “We have to get as many people out as we can.”

“There is only one door, Jacob,” Joseph smiled sadly at his brother, taking his hand, “The Deputy will not let us pass. And where would we go?”

The Faithful were beginning to rise from the pews, and Faith began to shepherd them to the back of the church. A few ducked down behind the pews or moved to hide anywhere they could, and Jacob listened as they all began to pray.

Joseph stood where he always stood when he preached, his chest bare to Heaven and his aviator glasses in place on his face.

“Take heart brothers,” he reached out to place a hand on John’s and Jacob’s shoulders, “some of us may live to see another sunrise.”

The church doors opened, unlocked and unbarred, and The Deputy stepped through. She still wore her uniform, her badge, that proclaimed her to be of the Hope County Sheriff’s Department, and she was unarmed as she stepped in from the rain outside, tracking mud into the church.

Her Enforcers were behind her— Sheriff Earl Whitehorse and Deputies, Josephina “Joey” Hudson and Staci Pratt. Whitehorse’s gun remained in his holster, but both of the Deputies were carrying rifles.

“Joseph Seed,” The Deputy called out, stopping down the aisle from Joseph, “We’ve come for you and your family.”

Faith left the Faithful and came to stand beside Jacob, four Seeds facing the four Followers.

“We have no intentions of fighting you,” Joseph spread his arms, “We only ask that our Faithful be treated well, that our lives be spared.”

The Deputy mirrored Joseph, spreading her arms and nodding, “I cannot promise that no harm will come to them, but I did not come here for a slaughter.”

Jacob eyed Joey Hudson, who was bouncing slightly behind The Deputy, looking around at the Faithful, a small smile on her face. Beside her, Sheriff Whitehorse looked tired but steady, and if Jacob remembered correctly, he was approaching his 56th birthday. Staci Pratt met Jacob’s gaze as it swept over him, and he offered Jacob a smile that held no real warmth.

The night might have ended with no death, no violence, if every member of the Faithful shared Joseph’s resolve and fear had not gotten in the way. Jacob heard the movement behind him, heard the cocking of the gun, and turned his head just in time to see Finnick Roy, Hope’s last remaining librarian, pull the trigger.

The shot went wide, Roy’s hands shaking, and it hit the arch above the door of the church, but the gunshot startled the rest of the Faithful. Two dozen against four seemed like good odds to them, and before Joseph could speak, the Faithful began to sprint for the door. Hudson and Pratt stepped forward, drawing closer to The Deputy, but did nothing to stop the Faithful as they ran past and out into the rain.

Gunshots rang out, muffled by the downpour, and Jacob heard shouts and screams from outside. Pratt moved to close the door, blocking out the screams and the rain, leaving the Family and the Followers inside.

“Secure them.”

Hudson and Pratt moved on The Deputy’s command, and Jacob stepped forward in front of Joseph.

He’d promised to follow Joseph’s lead, to stay calm, to let himself to taken if it meant the Faithful were spared, but he’d heard the screams of the Faithful, and he wasn’t letting his family go without a fight.

“Get out, Joe.”

“Jacob, no-“

“_John, move him_.”

John took hold of Joseph’s shoulders and pulled him back just as Jacob rushed Hudson and Pratt. They were armed, but they didn’t shoot, cursing and side stepping out of the aisle, their guns swinging to connect with Jacob before he could pass them. Jacob took a rifle to the stomach and to the shoulder, and he reached out to grab Hudson’s gun, yanking her out into the aisle. He punched her, knocking her to the ground and wrenching the rifle out of her hands. He heard Joseph and John moving behind him, and he heard Faith yell out a warning a second before Pratt’s rifle connected with the back of Jacob’s head.

Jacob stumbled forward, black spots blinking in his vision, and he turned around to point the rifle at Pratt, who jumped back out of the way as a shot rang out, missing him by inches, and Jacob felt a sharp pain in his knee as Hudson drove her heel up into it from the floor.

Glass shattered somewhere in the room, wind sweeping in, and he heard two gunshots. Horrified, Jacob turned and saw the broken window and John on the ground, clutching his arm.

Whitehorse had drawn his pistol, but Faith flung a bible in his direction, making him duck with a grunt before he could fire a third shot.

Joseph was nowhere to be seen.

Jacob took another hit to the leg, the leg that had never quite healed right after the war, and Hudson snarled curses at him as she kicked, and he went down to one knee. Weight slammed into his side as Pratt rushed him, and he was fully knocked to the ground.

He cursed, pushing himself back up to kneeling, but felt metal press against the back of his neck, Pratt’s rifle pressed flushed to his skin.

Everything had stopped. Whitehorse fired no more shots, and Jacob threw no more punches. Hudson was up, a dark spot forming around her eye, and she yanked the rifle out of Jacob’s hands before pulling them behind his back, slapping handcuffs down around his wrists.

“Gonna read me my rights?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She moved away from him, Pratt’s rifle still cold against his neck, and he turned his head the best he could to watch, furious, as she pushed Faith down to her knees, cuffing her as well before moving to John. John was conscious, but there was a steady flow of blood coming from his arm.

“Staci!” Hudson called out, and Whitehorse stepped forward, his pistol pointing down at Jacob while Pratt pulled away, heading for John. Jacob glared up at Whitehorse, who glared right back at him.

The Deputy was still by the doorway, watching everything, silent. She hadn’t moved a muscle as her Enforcers moved to subdue the Seeds, and now her eyes were on the window where Joseph had disappeared.

“Up.”

Jacob felt a hand on his arm, pulling him up. Hudson marched him over to the pulpit, and Jacob was shoved down onto his knees beside Faith, who was shaking beside him, trying to be strong, but she choked out a sob as Jacob landed heavily next to her. On Faith’s other side, John was dropped down, silent, but trembling. Pratt had tied a tourniquet around his upper arm, stemming the bleeding from the bullet wound. His wide eyes sought out Jacob’s, who nodded at him, trying to tell him it would be okay. John tried to smile, but didn’t quite manage it.

Joseph was out though, nowhere to be seen, a fact that The Deputy was clearly not happy about as she walked down the aisle.

“I wanted the Priest,” she was speaking to Whitehorse, leaning against the front set of pews, her eyes sweeping over their hostages while her other two Enforcers checked every corner of the church.

“We’ll get him, only so many places to hide,” Whitehorse was frowning as he looked at Faith’s shaking form, holstering his gun.

Jacob heard a cry, and he looked to see the eldest of Ryan Dobson’s sons being pulled out of the confessional by Pratt. He tried to fight, kicking at Pratt as he was dragged, but Pratt opened the church door a crack and called out for one of the Followers to come and take the boy outside.

He and Hudson soon came to stand beside Whitehorse, giving The Deputy an “all clear.”

The Deputy pushed off the pew and stepped forward toward their captives. John let out a small, whimpering noise, and Jacob growled, low, in his throat as she came closer.

She stopped in front of them.

“I was hoping for four of you, the whole Family,” The Deputy spoke, looking each of them in the eye one by one. Jacob glared, meeting her expressionless gaze with eyes of fire.

_I will kill you._

“But perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Three captives, for three Enforcers,” she looked back at her Followers and beckoned them forward, “Come, my friends, one for each of you. They are to be kept alive, to enter into the new world with us, so choose carefully.”

The Enforcers stepped forward, and The Deputy stepped to the side, letting them choose for themselves.

Faith leaned toward Jacob, away from their searching gazes, and John’s breathing was growing erratic, his eyes fixed on the floor in front him, like it would all disappear if he just didn’t look at it.

Jacob kept his eyes up, but he began to pull at his restraints, feeling the metal cut into his wrists.

_I can’t let them separate us. I will not lose my family._

Whitehorse spoke up first.

“I’ll take Miss. Faith, I think we all know she won’t do so well with you two.”

Joey had an arm around Pratt’s shoulder and they shared a nod and a knowing look.

Yeah, Whitehorse had a point. Faith wouldn’t survive long with them.

Whitehorse knelt down in front of Faith, grunting as his joints protested against the movement.

Jacob watched him, fury burning in his stomach, but Whitehorse’s face was full of pity and concern, and when he reached out to touch Faith’s shoulder, the touch was gentle. Faith shrank away from him, pressing into Jacob’s side.

“Come along now, I won’t hurt you.”

The Sheriff grasped Faith’s arm and pulled her up. Faith shook her head violently, muttering “No, no, no,” under her breath, but she went as Whitehorse pulled.

Jacob felt pain in his knee and head as he wrenched at his bonds, growling, “_Fucking let her go__._”

Whitehorse didn’t even look back as he led Faith past The Deputy and down the aisle, pushing open the door. There was a roar from outside from the Followers, but it was muffled as soon as the door closed behind them.

Two prisoners, two Enforcers.

Hudson and Pratt exchanged a look.

“You got a preference?”

“Ladies first.”

Hudson grinned and pulled away from Pratt, looking from John to Jacob.

Her gaze lingered on Jacob for a moment, looking him up and down, her eyes fierce with a bruise already starting to form around one of them where Jacob had hit her. Then she turned to John, who was practically catatonic as he stared at the ground.

“Eenie, meenie, miney, You,” she pointed at John, who didn’t react, and she looked at The Deputy, who nodded. Hudson stepped forward and grabbed John’s arm, yanking him up. John, like being pulled out of a daze, scrambled to get his feet under him, and as Hudson pulled him down the aisle toward the doors, he looked frantically around.

“Jacob!” he screamed back at his brother, struggling against Hudson’s grip, only to be wrenched forward, “JACOB!”

Jacob’s wrists were bleeding where the metal was digging into his skin, and he tried to rise, tried to struggle to his feet, _John, no_, but Pratt placed a foot on his chest and shoved him back down.

“Wait,” he smiled down at Jacob, “You’ll get your turn. Guess it’s you and me, huh?”

Jacob snarled up at him.

Jacob had only met Staci Pratt once before. The deputy had knocked on his door one Sunday afternoon, about an hour after Jacob had returned from Joseph’s morning service and family lunch.

Jacob had opened the door, his dog, Judge, barking at his heels, and his first thought was that Pratt was awfully, awfully pretty.

“Sorry to disturb you on the day of the Lord, Mr. Seed,” he’d smiled, warm and so, so sincere, “But your neighbor, Mr. Scriver, called in about half an hour ago about one of his dogs goin’ missing. He thinks she might have run off and got stuck in one of your traps.”

“I have a permit for those,” Jacob had narrowed his eyes, Judge trying to get past him to sniff at Pratt.

“I know,” Pratt nodded, sighed, “To be honest Mr. Seed, if the dog is here, you don’t need to worry. Mr. Scriver has new trouble with someone every week. I’m really sorry to take up your time, but could you show me the traps? You’d really be doing me a favor.”

Pratt really had been so charming and Jacob really had been so stupid.

All the shit he’d given John over the years, all the “don’t be stupid fucking, one smile and you’re in love, John”s, but one smile and a few sweet words from Pratt and Jacob had led the officer into his yard. He’d fucking flexed, showing him the different traps, showing him his skills, showing Pratt every fucking inch of his land and defenses because he smiled so nice with his pretty, pretty face.

_“You’d really be doing me a favor.”_

They’d never found the dog.

Stupid fucking Jacob.

Pratt was smiling again as he looked down at Jacob, eyes full of a cold sort of triumph at having Jacob on his back.

Despite all that, he was still pretty, and Jacob fucking hated him.

“Calmed down a bit?”

“_Fuck you_.”

“I want him in one piece, Staci,” The Deputy spoke from beside the pews, stepping forward until her shoulder brushed Pratt’s.

“He will be, I won’t let you down,” Pratt’s voice went soft as he spoke to her, and she reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

“How fucking touching,” Jacob spat at their feet, sneering, “You gonna just fuck right here? Want me to come back?”

“Cure him of that mouth please.”

“Yes, Deputy.”

The Deputy stepped away and headed for the exit. Pratt looked back down at Jacob, eyes cold again. 

“You gonna walk on your own, or you gonna make me get someone in here to throw you over their shoulder ‘cause you’re being naughty?”

Jacob gritted his teeth.

“I’ll walk.”

“Good boy.”

Pratt grabbed his arm and jerked him up, pushing him ahead, leveling his rifle at Jacob’s back. Jacob moved forward, following The Deputy out of the church.

Outside he saw no sign of Faith or John, he saw only the crowd of Followers, hooting at him, and the bodies of the Faithful, most of which were face down in the mud. Soon he had a black bag pulled over his head and he was being thrown down into the back of a pickup truck.

He would bid his time, wait for the right moment.

He’d get free, find Joseph, find his siblings.

Kill Pratt, kill The Deputy.


	2. Chapter 2

Jacob woke up in a cage with a splitting headache, a growling stomach, and a fucking urge to kill. He was on his back, and he could feel mud beneath him. All around him was the stench of blood, vomit, piss, and fear, and when Jacob sat up, he saw that he was in one of many cages in wherever the fuck he was.

He reached, instinctively, for his dog tags and his rabbit’s foot, his Luck, but for the first time since he’d touched back down on American soil, all he felt was his shirt. Both of his chains had been taken, leaving him feeling more naked than if they’d striped him bare.

He’d kill Pratt.

It took some effort to stand up. His leg ached from the church, and anywhere he wasn’t hurt still dully ached from getting knocked around and sleeping on the ground, and it was all a good, hot recipe for one pissed off Jacob Seed.

He raised his good leg and slammed his boot against the cage doors.

Had to be guards somewhere, right?

“Hey, chucklefucks!”

He kicked again, the metal clanging.

“I wanna fucking speak to Pratt, get over here!”

The prisoners around him were staring to rouse, hissing at him, blood draining out of their faces.

_CLANG._

“Tell Pratt to get his fucking ass out here!”

_CLANG_

“Or is he too chickenshit to look me in the face?!”

_CLANG_

“Please, shut up!” the prisoner in the cage beside Jacob hissed at him, looking around wildly “Are you fucking insane? You’ve only been here a night, you don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I’m getting some shit off my chest,” Jacob slammed his foot again and again into the metal.

After what seemed like an age, a guard approached, trying to feign boredom, but Jacob could smell the wariness, the Weakness on him.

Jacob was a big guy, and he drew himself up to his full height as the guard stopped in front of his cage.

“I wanna speak to Pratt, where the fuck is he?”

“Busy.”

“_Busy_? Busy raiding more churches? Tearin’ more families apart? Get him here.”

“He’s busy.”

“He here?”

“Yeah, but he’s busy.”

“Oh, you afraid to talk to big, bad Pratt? What kind of man are you?”

“_He’s busy_.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right. Tell him to get off whatever dick he’s bouncing on and get down here.”

That had been a mistake. The guard had kept a straight face through Jacob’s snarling, but as Jacob upped the ante on insults the guard flashed out a hand and Jacob felt a jolt go through him. His whole body gave a shake and he staggered back, a fierce pain radiating out from where the guard had hit him.

The guard, red faced, pulled back the taser he’d jabbed into Jacob’s side and ignored Jacob’s swearing as he turned away and headed back down the line of cages.

“Yeah, go cry to your master, you fuckin’ pup,” Jacob grumbled, one hand pressed to where his skin was still pulsing with pain.

But Pratt didn’t come.

Not that day, nor the next, nor the next.

It didn’t matter how much Jacob raged against the bars of the cage or snarled at the guards, letting vulgar shit spew like crazy, the result was the same. No Pratt. Sometimes he got No Pratt and a side helping of pissed off guard, who would call a friend over to help slam Jacob into the ground, beating him bruised and bloody for the shit he said.

But in the end, Jacob had a bigger problem.

He was starving.

Jacob was starving, and he knew what starving felt like. He hadn’t been fed—no food, no water, no nothing. There was a constant stone in his stomach, and it was cramping, rumbling, and fucking devouring itself as the days went by.

Jacob was huuuungry.

Jacob thought of Miller.

_Sorry, old friend._

Pratt came on the seventh day, and by then, Jacob could barely raise his head to glare at him, but glare he did. Every inch of him was bruised, the pain was bone deep in his leg, and he was swimming in and out of consciousness with only the pain in his stomach bringing him pitifully back to reality every few minutes—all and all, pretty fucking rough, even for him.

_US Army, 82nd Airborne Division, hoo-rah._

When Pratt came, he looked down at Jacob, lying on his back in the mud and glaring weakly up at him, and he sighed.

“Not yet, huh?”

Jacob didn’t even have the strength to shout after him as he turned and disappeared from view.

That night he put his lips to the mud and sucked out whatever he could—muddy water, piss, blood—it was the sweetest taste in the world, but it wasn’t enough.

Pratt came back three days later— ten days, a third of a month.

Jacob wanted to glare, he wanted to snarl, but he didn’t. He just watched Pratt approach, sitting up weakly against the back bars of his cage.

“Good morning, Jacob,” he greeted, smiling that cold smile.

Jacob stared dully back at him.

“Aren’t you going to say good morning to me?”

_Oh, so this is the game._

“Morin’, Peaches.”

Jacob’s voice was so raspy and his tongue was so dry, he could barely get the words out.

Pratt sighed.

Jacob blinked and he was gone.

Pratt gave him two more days, and Jacob knew he was dying. He wouldn’t survive another day without proper water, and he couldn’t think straight, could barely form words, but he was the first to speak when Pratt appeared outside his cage at dawn.

“Good morning.”

Pratt smiled.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

It had been agony.

The cage door opened, but Jacob couldn’t make his body move, couldn’t even think as Pratt stepped inside, coming forward to squat down in front of him. There was the sound of a metal cap unscrewing, and Jacob felt fingers on his chin, tilting his head back.

He swore he saw heaven in that moment as water touched his tongue. It ran into his mouth, down his aching throat, into his empty stomach, and he let out a quiet moan, everything else falling away as the water flowed through him.

He swallowed, over and over, leaning toward Pratt with every bit of strength he had, licking at the spout of the canister when there were only drops left to drink.

“No,” he mumbled as the steam stopped, the bottle empty, “No, more.”

“Hush,” Pratt put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back against the bars, “It’s all right. Are you going to say thank you?”

“Thank you.”

Jacob wasn’t even sure the words had come out of his mouth, but they must have, because Pratt smiled his warmth-less smile.

“Good. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but obedience isn’t a new trick for you, is it?”

Jacob didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know how to reply, but it was ok, because Pratt was already rising, leaving the cage and closing it behind him.

“Behave, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Pratt came every morning, waiting until Jacob greeted him before stepping into the cage. He was at ease around Jacob, who was too weak to do anything (yet) and he always brought him water. It was never enough, but, slowly but surely, Jacob felt some of his strength return.

On the fifth day of Pratt’s visits, he brought food. It was a pile of raw meat in a metal bowl and Jacob devoured it as soon as it was set down before him, licking the bowl clean and growling at a guard that stepped too close.

Pratt watched, and when the bowl was empty, he filled it with water, which Jacob drank down like nectar.

“Good, good,” Pratt whispered, tapping his fingers against the metal of the cage, “I think you’re almost ready to come out.”

Twenty days had passed since that night in the church when Jacob left the cage. He was strong enough to stand again, strong enough to speak, and so, Pratt decided, he was strong enough to come out.

A guard came to collect him. The sun was high in the sky, just past noon if Jacob had to guess as he was ordered to his feet. He complied, watching the guard with narrowed eyes, and the door to his cage was unlocked. The guard had a pistol leveled at Jacob as he opened the door and jerked his head, telling him to move.

He was led out passed the cages and finally, finally, got a look at where he was.

St. Francis Veteran Center.

Jacob knew the place. He had come for a few rounds of physical therapy when his leg had started acting up last year. He’d also come twice for actual, sit down with a shrink, talk about your feelings therapy at Joseph’s insistence, but that hadn’t lasted long. There were plenty of ex-soldiers in Hope County, people like Eli Palmer and Grace Armstrong, that Jacob had a passing respect and companionship with, but they weren’t his friends. He had his family; they were all he needed.

Jacob came to a stop near the front doors of the Center. Pratt stood in front of him, holding a clipboard, with one guard on either side of him. Pratt’s guards were larger than him, but smaller than Jacob, and they eyed Jacob warily, tense at their Enforcer’s side.

“Jacob,” Pratt smiled as he looked up to see him, “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.”

Jacob fucking hated his smile.

“I was just bringing myself up to speed on your police file. Some interesting stuff in here, as I’m sure you know. Anyway, welcome to the Veteran’s Center. I’m sure you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah, I’m familiar.”

“Good, I’m glad,” the smile on Pratt’s face was as fake as ever, “What role did you play in the military?”

“The fuck you care?”

Jacob knew it was stupid, knew it was pointless, but fuck it felt good to be able to fight back after almost dying.

The guard behind him drew back his arm and slammed the butt of his gun into the side of Jacob’s head, making him curse and stumble.

“Let’s try that again,” Pratt’s smile was unchanged, like he was talking to a child, ready to display all the patience in the world.

“What role did you play in the military?”

“Shit, I was a marksman.”

Pratt wrote something down on the file, nodding along, “Ok, thank you. Says here you were born in Georgia?”

“Yeah.”

“Whereabouts?”

“No where you would fucking know.”

Pratt sighed, frowning, and the gun connected with Jacob’s head again, making black spots pop about in his vision. He shook his head to clear it, heat burning in him stomach and fury beginning to rise in his throat.

“Rome—what’s it fuckin’ matter? I’m here now.”

Pratt held up his hand as the guard pulled the gun back again and the guard stopped, lowering it down, but watching, just waiting for Jacob to step out of line.

“What brought you here, to Hope County?” Pratt asked, steadily meeting Jacob’s eyes even as Jacob tried to use his glare to drill a hole through the bastard’s head.

“We wanted a change of scenery, Rome’s a pile of shit.”

Or at least had been, before John had put even effort into obliterating any sign of the old place they’d once suffered in. Rome could have become a fucking heaven on Earth and the brothers still would have wanted to leave.

“No fondness for your hometown?”

Jacob just fucking snorted.

“I see,” Pratt’s smile was back, “I can relate. Grew up in West Virginia myself—growing up in a poor town can really shape a childhood.”

“Fucking boohoo for you.”

Pratt nodded and for a third time, the gun slammed into Jacob’s head, rattling his teeth, and he’d fucking had enough. With a snarl he threw his weight back and swung his right arm forward, then back. He jabbed his elbow into his guard’s ribs so hard he heard a crack and felt something give way. The guard fell backward, and Jacob wasted no time in rushing Pratt.

_If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna take this bastard with me._

Pratt didn’t even move—he didn’t need to. His two guards stepped forward, slamming their shoulders into Jacob, stopping his momentum and throwing him back. Jacob hit the ground, growling as he tried to push himself up, but Pratt had also had enough.

“Secure him,” he ordered, and Jacob felt new hands on him, stronger, the two guards shoving him back down flat on his stomach and pinning him there. Jacob struggled, furious, but the days of no food had eaten at his muscle and he was nowhere near his full strength-- he tired quickly, his body failing him.

He was forced to go limp as one of the guards twisted his arm behind his back, and Jacob could feel how close it was to being dislocated—all it would take was the slightest bit more pressure, and Jacob knew he was done anyway. The guard he had elbowed was being taken away by another Follower, wheezing, but Pratt’s personal guards had an iron clad grip on him.

He wouldn’t be killing Pratt, not today at least.

Pratt wasn’t smiling anymore, and Jacob took some satisfaction in that.

“Take his jacket.”

The satisfaction turned to ash in his mouth.

“_No_.”

The guards ignored his protest and began to pull the fatigued, green jacket off of him. Jacob kicked out at them, wrestling to turn onto his back, but a kick to the stomach left his breathless, gasping as the military jacket was pulled from his arms.

Pratt held his hand out and one of the guards passed him the jacket while the other put a knee into Jacob’s back, keeping him in place.

Jacob had to strain his neck up as he growled, trying to keep Pratt in his sights as his stomach rolled with pain and his arms ached. He’d already fucking taken his tags and his Luck, _bastard, bastard, bastard. _

Pratt held the jacket up, admiring it, wrinkling his nose a little bit at the mud, blood, and other shit that stained it.

“Bit dirty, isn’t it? I’ll hang on to it for now, give it a wash.”

“_You have no fucking right to have that_,” Jacob saw red as Pratt just laughed, balling up the jacket and tucking it under his arm.

“Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll give it back.”

“Fuck you.”

Jacob’s head was promptly smashed down into the mud, and for a moment he couldn’t breath as the guards held him there.

“That’s enough.”

The guards let go and Jacob snarled as he came up for air, glaring up at Pratt, who laughed.

“Jesus Christ, you just keep getting uglier and uglier, don’t you?”

That stung more than it fucking should have, but Jacob gritted his teeth, keeping his mouth shut.

“Good,” Pratt’s smile was back and his voice went soft, almost purring, “You’re learning, aren’t you? You’re a bit slow, but we’ll get there. Three days without food and water for this outburst. I’ll see you then.”

“No,” Jacob growled as the hands tightened on him, pulling at him, dragging him up, “No! Fuck, no!”

“Unless…”

Pratt held up a hand and the guards stopped, half supporting Jacob’s weight as Pratt stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

“Unless you’d like to apologize, Jacob?” he and Jacob were eye to eye, Jacob’s body twitching, but still held fast by the guards.

Jacob`s blood was singing with hatred, and he gathered spit in his mouth to lob at Pratt’s face, closer than it’s ever been, but his stomach twisted, sour at the idea of being deprived for another three days, and with effort, he swallowed down the spit and his pride.

“I’m sorry.”

“Louder, Jacob.”

“_I’m sorry,_” Jacob said, louder, his teeth gritted so hard it hurt.

“Good,” Pratt nodded, his eyes slowly searching Jacob’s face, “That`s good, Jacob. Now…” he leaned closer, only inches from Jacob’s face and Jacob wondered, bitterly, how Pratt would taste if he tore his throat out “…my Followers tell me you were making quite a lot of noise when you got here. You asked to speak with me?”

That was a mild way of putting it.

“I want to know why the hell I’m here.”

“You’re here because you’re Strong, Jacob,” Pratt’s smile was different from before, the edges were softer, and Jacob felt his body beginning to relax against his better judgment, an automatic response.

“You’re Strong, and I like to surround myself with Strength.”

“’Cause you’re weak?”

It was by far one of the tamest things he had said about Pratt, Jacob hadn’t even really meant it to be biting, more of an observation than anything, but the effect it had on Pratt was instantaneous.

His smile dropped, his body tensed, and his eyes filled with loathing the likes of which Jacob hadn’t seen since the war.

“Take him back,” Pratt spat, venom lacing every word, “Get him out of my sight. Let him rot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! This story is extremely fun to write, and I'll have the next chapter up soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Jacob rotted in his cell for five days without seeing head nor heel of Pratt. The guards didn’t respond to his yelling, not even looking at him as they came to collect others, dragging prisoners out of their cages and into the Center.

Jacob was brought no food or water, getting only what he could suck out of the earth, and he was fucking bitter. His tags, his Luck, and his jacket were gone—armor striped away and left wherever Pratt had seen fit to leave them. He’d apologized for nothing, given Pratt the satisfaction for nothing. Pratt’s face appeared again and again in his mind, the way his face had twisted at Jacob’s words, the pure hatred in his eyes.

_“’Cause you’re weak?”_

“Guess I hit a nerve,” Jacob mumbled to himself, staring up at the tarp that covered the top of his cage, drifting in and out of consciousness.

On the sixth day, when Jacob woke up, he wasn’t in his cage.

He was inside the Center, in a room he’d never seen before, bound to a chair by his wrists and ankles. He was alone, the lights turned off, and his head slumped back, dizzy. He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring dully at the ceiling, before Pratt came. It could have been hours, could have been seconds—all he knew was that Pratt had come in with a plastic bottle and a bowl of food, both of which were placed on the table at the front of the room, where a whirring projected waited, before Pratt moved back to close the door.

They were alone.

“Good morning,” Jacob whispered through dry, cracked lips. He had no idea what time it was.

“Good morning, Jacob. Thirty? Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

Pratt didn’t tease him further, opening the plastic bottle and moving to pour its contents into Jacob’s mouth. Jacob almost spluttered when it wasn’t water he tasted, but a sugary, sweet liquid that tasted weakly like berries.

“You’re electrolytes aren’t doing so good,” Pratt mused as Jacob gulped it down anyway, “I personally have always liked the Cherry flavor, but it is what it is.”

When Jacob had drained the energy drink, Pratt capped it and picked up the bowl of food. Jacob’s hands were tied down, so Pratt fed him the gooey, oatmeal like porridge spoonful by spoonful, keeping quiet as Jacob swallowed it down.

Jacob was glad for the silence. Pratt could have done some shit like make him ask for every bite and fuck, he would have done it, but the Enforcer said nothing as he offered Jacob each bite until the bowl was empty.

“Feeling better?” he placed the bowl down beside the bottle.

“Yeah.”

The food had been gentler than the raw meat Jacob had been eating before, and the energy drink left him refreshed in a way the water hadn’t. He was still hungry, still thirty, but he was better, and he was able to keep his head up as he watched Pratt take a seat on the table beside the bowl.

He was wearing his Deputy’s uniform, Jacob had never seen him out of it, and Jacob wondered, vaguely, if he wore it like Jacob had worn his army jacket, like a suit of armor, distancing him from the people around him. Here he was, naked in front of Pratt, in only his jeans and his filthy t-shirt, and Pratt was fully uniformed, his Deputy’s badge gleaming on his chest.

Jacob’s mouth moved before he could think better of it.

“You got any siblings, Pratt?”

Pratt’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t look angry, just surprised.

“No, no siblings.”

“You ever want any, growing up?”

“Yeah, I always wanted a sister,” Pratt smiled faintly, “My best friend growing up had a sister, and she was so cool. She let me try her gun, took me to get ice cream when I broke my arm, gave me my first beer… I always wished I had a sister of my own. Joey’s the closet thing I’ve ever had to one.”

Jacob nodded, thinking of Faith and feeling his heart tighten.

“What about you, Jacob? Ever wish you were an only child?”

“Plenty of times, yeah,” he’d wished it every time he’d heard John cry or heard a belt connect with Joseph’s back, “but I think having siblings teaches ya something, ‘bout sharing, ‘bout compassion.”

Jacob didn’t know if he had that compassion anymore, but he still loved his brothers and his new sister with every inch of his heart.

“You don’t think I’m compassionate?” Pratt’s smile grew.

“I don’t know Pratt, I know fuck all ‘bout you except that you keep people in cages and attack churches. That don’t scream compassionate.”

Pratt shrugged, unbothered.

“Oh well, we’ll leave that to be decided for another day. We’ve got work to do here.”

Pratt reached into the folds of his uniform and pulled out a harmonica. It looked old, but well cared for. There were chips out of the wood, but the silver on the side looked freshly polished, and Jacob could see that it was engraved with the initials S.M.N.C..

“Stela Maria Nava Cortes,” Pratt’s smile softened again, holding out the harmonica so that Jacob could see it better, “My abeula’s, she passed away a few years age, left it to me. My mom named me after her—Americanized the name a little bit, gave me my father’s last name in the hopes that life would be kinder to me, but it turns out having a girl’s name can make life pretty rough on an eleven year old.”

“Kids can be cruel,” Jacob eyed the instrument, wary, “You bring me up here to tell me your life’s story? Thought we had work to do.”

“Ya know, most prisoners don’t want to rush right to the work part.”

“Fuckin’ spare me the niceties.”

Pratt shrugged, “As you wish.”

He leaned over and took the cap off the waiting projector, and bright light bathed the far wall. Jacob’s eyes were drawn to it, and he watched as Pratt hit a button and the light changed to an image, the shape changing every few seconds.

A deer in the snow, an eagle flying over a lake, a bear among its cubs, a wolf howling at the sky.

A long, tinny note sounded from the side, and Jacob looked back at Pratt, who had put the harmonica to his lips and blown a long, solid chord.

His eyes flicked up to meet Jacob’s as he blew, and he smiled, licking his lips before he began to play a song that Jacob had heard a hundred times over, both at home and in his time in hell.

As Pratt played, the words formed in Jacob’s mind, but it was Pratt’s voice, like a whisper, instantly soothing him, making his eyes drift back to the projections.

_Almost heaven, West Virginia…_

A bird was jumping from its nest, a cougar was lying down to sleep.

_Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River _

A fish was leaping out of a rippling river, a rabbit was peaking out from a burrow.

_Life is old here, older than the trees_

Jacob felt sleepy, his body relaxing, boneless in the chair. The sound of the harmonica was mixing with Pratt’s voice in his mind, and Jacob felt himself fading, the white light around the projections bleeding into his eyes.

_Younger than the mountains _

He was so tired, so relaxed, surely he could close his eyes, could sleep, peacefully, just for a little bit.

_Blowing like a breeze…_

Jacob was in a forest. It was early morning, rays of fresh sunlight filtering in through the trees, and he could hear the birds waking up, chirping to one another. He looked around—he was in his backyard; he could see the corner of his cabin, could hear the sound of his dog, Judge, barking, from inside, probably impatient to be let outside for a stretch.

_Safe, safe, safe._

A voice murmured, familiar in Jacob’s mind, and he gazed around. He could hear the song, faintly, moving through the leaves, whispered on the wind.

Yes, he was safe, he was at home, nothing would hurt him here. And… he wasn’t alone, he knew this, someone was waiting for him at home, he didn’t know who, but something told him he wanted them there, loved them.

He turned, stepping toward the house, and then a shot rang out and the dream turned to a nightmare as suddenly he realized that the forest was shifting, growing denser and darker, and men and women were stepping out from behind the trees, wielding guns and knives, moving forward towards him, towards the house. Panic flooded through Jacob, uncontrollable.

_Protect, protect, protect_.

Then there was a gun in his hand, his red pistol, and he knew he had to kill them, kill them all—they couldn’t reach the house, he had to protect the house.

He raised the weapon and shot, hitting the first man he saw between the eyes, and he moved, reaching down and feeling the familiar weight of his knife strapped to his leg. He unsheathed it and buried it in the neck of a woman, who had blown past him to get to the cabin.

_Good, so good._

He shot another man in the back, then another in the head as they tried to pass him. He fired, over and over again, abandoning the gun when it ran out of bullets and began to use his knife, throwing himself in front of them, pushing them back with a roar.

Then he felt a blossoming pain, dull and then sharp in his chest, and he looked down to see a bloodstain forming over his heart, red and red and red.

Jacob woke up, phantom blood in his mouth.

He was lying, slumped in his chair, every part of his slick with sweat, and he was gasping for air, his lungs refusing to take in another breath, and he looked desperately down at his chest.

No red on his shirt. Just the dark brown of the mud from outside.

There was a hand on his cheek, and his head was being tilted back.

He raised his eyes and his gaze focused on Pratt, who was smiling, calm as can be.

“Breathe, Jacob.”

The voice was the same, curling into his mind, whispering, _breathe, breathe, breathe._

Jacob took in a shuddering breath, trying to calm his heart, to push down the panic that blocked his airway. He locked eyes with Pratt and listened, matched his breathing to Pratt’s, slowing it down, shaking as finally he was able to draw breath.

“Good,” Pratt nodded, his thumb rubbing along Jacob’s cheek, “Good, such a good first try, Jacob.”

Jacob couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away from Pratt.

“But you’ll do even better next time, won’t you?”

Jacob didn’t know, couldn’t understand, but he nodded, shaky, and his body seemed to move of its own accord, leaning his face into Pratt’s touch, closing his eyes.

_Safe, Protect, Good._

_Pratt, Pratt, Pratt._

Jacob woke again, this time back in his cage, with the sky dark beyond his bars and water waiting in a bowl beside him. He drank it down, and went back to sleep, waking up barely an hour later to the sound of a guard reaching through the bars to refill his bowl. He sipped it more slowly this time, moving it around his mouth and holding it in the back of his throat before he swallowed it.

God, he would kill for a toothbrush and a shower. A shave would be nice too, his beard was getting too long and it was stiff with dried mud and blood.

_Yeah, and maybe I’ll get a cell phone and an ice cream bar too._

He could think now, about what the hell had happened in that room, how the music had pulled him under, how he’d responded to Pratt’s voice and touch, but thinking about it didn’t mean he could understand it, and he rubbed his hands over his face, gritting his teeth.

The sun rose outside his bars, waking the other prisoners who had managed to struggle through the night, and for once, Jacob didn’t want to see Staci Pratt’s stupid, pretty face, he wanted to be left in the cage to stew, but Pratt showed up about an hour after the sun was up, smiling down at Jacob.

“Up and at ‘em! Time for round two.”

Jacob was awake this time as he was dragged into the Visitor’s Center, Pratt’s two guards, the ones that always seemed to be with him, digging bruises into Jacob’s arms.

As Jacob emerged from the block of cages, he could see other Followers outside, some of them running laps around the building while others were being put through weapons training by an unsmiling Chosen. Jacob watched them until he was pulled into the Center, eying the Chosen.

The Visitor Center was still recognizable as a hospital, but many of the rooms had been gutted to be turned into bedrooms, equipment shoved out into the halls in favor of more beds and food. Jacob could see Followers inside some of the rooms, sleeping, eating, cleaning their guns, or joking around with each other as they prepared to start their day or retire from the graveyard shift. Jacob eyed every weapon he saw, counting, and he was well into the late thirties when he was pulled up two flights of stairs and pushed through a door after Pratt.

He was back in the Projector room, and he looked around, properly surveying the room for the first time. It was dark, like the first time he’d been here—the light from outside shut out by dark curtains— and the front of the room looked the same. There was the table and the projector, with several chairs in front of it, restraints strapped to all of them, but in the back of the room there was another large table that was surrounded by bookcases, filled to the brim with books.

If Jacob was being honest, he wasn’t much of a reader. He’d never had the time as a child, and now that he did as an adult, he found reading always led him to getting lost in his own mind. That wasn’t somewhere he wanted to be.

He was pushed down into one of the chairs in the front row, and one of the guards glared him down while the other secured and double checked the fastenings around his wrists and ankles. Jacob glared right back, baring his teeth, but he dropped the expression when Pratt stepped forward to stand in front of him.

“Good, thank you,” Pratt reached out to touch each of his guards on the shoulder and they bowed their heads for a moment before stepping out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“You like having me all to yourself, Pratt?” Jacob pulled at the leather around his wrists, testing it. It barely budged, indenting slightly into Jacob’s skin.

“You seem to have made a habit of picking fights with my Followers. I think you’ll learn better if it’s just us,” Pratt leaned back against the table.

“Can’t keep your own men in line?”

“Oh, they have no orders against beating the shit out of you, it’s more that for this to work, I need you relaxed.”

“Relaxed?” Jacob snorted, and he gave his wrist restraints a yank, the chair groaning under him, “This some kind of bondage thing, Pratt? You like me more than you’re lettin’ on?”

Pratt smiled.

“Have I given you the impression that I don’t like you, Jacob?”

“You got pretty pissed at me the other day.”

“You stepped out of line—you’re a bit like a bad dog,” Pratt reached into his Deputy’s jacket and pulled out the harmonica, running a finger along the shiny metal.

“You disobey, I don’t give you my attention. You fight with the others, I separate you. You lash out, I put you in a cage and I take away your things.”

He reached over to pull the cap off the projector and Jacob caught the last second of a dog bounding through the snow before the slide changed to show a horse rearing up in a meadow.

“Tryin’ to tame me? It get you off? Trying to make stronger men bend, making ‘em into your bitches?” Jacob jerked his head toward the door where Pratt’s guards had disappeared.

“Do I need to bring you back outside?

“I sure as _hell_ don’t want to be in here.”

“Really?” Pratt pulled himself up onto the table, sitting crosslegged and licking his lips, “We’ll have to change that. Watch the images, Jacob.”

“Fuck your images.”

But Pratt wasn’t listening, he’d brought his harmonica up to his lips and he blew one long, single note.

The hairs on the back of Jacob’s neck stood up, then relaxed, his whole body slumping as the song started again. He tried to fight it this time, to not look at the projector, to keep his eyes on Pratt and to push the music out, but his eyes drifted, looking at a jumping dolphin, a cat dipping a paw into a pond, a hamster nibbling on a seed.

_Country roads, take me home_

Jacob tried to shake off the weight pressing down on his eyes, encouraging him to shut them, to sleep.

_To the place, I belong_

He tried to look at Pratt, he watched his mouth move over the harmonica, watched his eyes move up to meet Jacob’s, calm and so, so pretty.

_West Virginia, mountain mama_

White filtered into his vision and felt so tired, so relaxed.

_Take me home…_

Jacob let it take him, his eyes closing.

_country roads_

Jacob blinked. He was in a forest. Early morning light shown down upon him through the trees, and he could hear the birds tweeting back and forth. He was home again, could hear his dog, could feel that presence again. Someone he loved, someone he must protect.

_Safe, safe, safe._

Jacob looked down at his hands. He was already holding his gun, the knife strapped to his leg, and he looked out into the forest as it slowly grew darker, denser. He saw the first woman before the first shot rang out and he fired, putting a hole through her neck before more figures began to move, barreling through the trees toward him and the house.

_Protect, protect, protect_.

He emptied his gun, throwing it aside and picking up a new one, a shotgun. No one would get past him, not this time. He fired over and over again, picking up a new gun every time he was out of bullets, firing at everything that moved, killing every person he saw.

_Good, better._

But they just kept coming, more and more of them, and he was pushed back toward the house, emerging through the trees and backing up until his back hit the wood of the cabin.

“No!” he snarled, “No, no, no!”

The assault rifle clicked uselessly in his hands and he launched himself forward, pulling the knife to slash at the enemies as they tried to push past him to the house. He buried his knife into the throat of a woman, screaming, then felt the air leave his lungs, feeling pain shiver through his back.

Jacob woke, choking for air, and Pratt was there, a hand on his cheek and Jacob listened, desperate for Pratt’s breathing to ground him. He sucked in a breath, turning into Pratt’s touch, gasping and still feeling the pain of the bullet in his back.

“Shh, it’s ok,” Pratt’s thumb ran over Jacob’s cheek and he leaned down to press his forehead against Jacob’s, “Breathe, there you go. That was so much better, you did so good, Jacob.”

The praise rang in Jacob’s ears, it soothed the pain in his back and he pressed up against Pratt as much as his restraints would allow.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered, looking into Pratt’s eyes, so close to his.

Pratt smiled.

“Oh Jacob, we’re just getting started.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jacob’s life took on structure—he would wake in the morning, Pratt would arrive, he’d be taken upstairs, Pratt would feed him, and then he would watch the images while Pratt played.

He was always sent back to the same scene—the forest behind his cabin in the early morning.

_Safe, safe, safe._

_Protect, protect, protect._

No matter how hard he tried, how many people he killed, it always ended the same way, with Jacob being killed and waking up in a cold, painful sweat with Pratt waiting for him.

The killing part wasn’t hard, Jacob enjoyed having a chance to stretch his legs, to return to his primal instincts, but it was the fear that bothered him. Every time he went under he knew, just knew, that if he let up, even for a second, if one person got past him, the person in the house would die and he would lose everything. It drove him to kill over and over again, getting better and better as he noticed the patterns in his attackers` approach, killing the same people as they followed their set paths to try to get past him.

“Good, so good,” Pratt would tell him every time he woke up with a bullet in his brain or a knife in his stomach, and Jacob would shake, gasping for air, listening for Pratt’s breathing to calm himself down, listening to his soft words, every cell in his body craving contact.

Then Pratt would step away, always too soon, always leaving Jacob feeling Weak, and his guards would come in and drag him back down to his cage, where he would stay until the next morning when it would start all over again.

Sometimes, if Pratt was feeling talkative, he would chat with Jacob before they started, turning the harmonica over in his fingers and letting Jacob ask him questions like he had that first time.

“How old are you?” Jacob had asked on the fifth run through, freshly fed from a plate of eggs and hash browns. His stomach was growing use to regular food and water again, growling on cue whenever Pratt came to get him.

“I’m twenty-six,” Pratt was sitting on the table, as he was want to do.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Do I look older?”

Jacob could tell Pratt was trying not to laugh.

“Twenty six year olds should be stumbling through their first real jobs, not fucking holding a county hostage.”

Pratt gestured around, giving Jacob a perplexed look, “Why Jacob, this is my first job.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

The insult held less bite than it should, and Pratt actually did laugh this time, his eyes crinkling and his smile turning warm. Jacob was getting dangerously use to seeing Pratt’s real smile.

“What about you Jacob? Aren’t forty-seven year olds supposed to be settled down? Reading the newspaper every morning and being emotional distance with their two precious children?”

Jacob rolled his eyes, but felt his gut twist a bit.

“I had John and Faith, they were childish enough for me.”

“And Joseph?”

“Thankfully self-reliant, if a little overzealous.”

“You think you’d be a good father, Jacob?”

Jacob shut his mouth, snapping his teeth together and not saying another fucking word until Pratt’s music pulled him under.

Before his seventh run through, Jacob had asked him about the Police Academy, and Jacob got to watch as Pratt laughed so hard he almost fell off the table halfway through the story of meeting Joey Hudson.

“S-she,” Pratt tried to choke out between laughs, “she just fucking clocked this dude. I didn’t know him, I certainly didn’t know her and she just,” he wheezed slightly, trying to regain some composure and Jacob felt his mouth twitch against his will, “she just looked at me and asked if I wanted some too. I didn’t even know the bastard!”

Jacob only understood about every third word, but he didn’t mind as he watched Pratt, flushed and grinning, finally calm himself down.

“Anyway,” he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face, “we ended up hanging out for the rest of the night, been friends ever since. God, she’s a force.”

“You like her?”

“Yeah, are you not listening?”

“No,” Jacob chuckled a bit at the disgruntled look on Pratt’s face, “I mean you two together or something?”

“Oh,” Pratt blinked, “No. She’s not really my type.”

_Good._

“How’d you end up in Hope County?”

“That’s also a funny story,” Pratt went on to tell it, Jacob listening and watching Pratt’s face, thinking.

“You ever fuck around in college?”

He’d slept badly—a new prisoner, thrown in the cell beside him, had cried all night—and his leg fucking hurt. When Pratt had shown up, cheerful as ever in the morning to take him for his tenth session, Jacob had wanted to hit him, but he’d settled for trying to throw him off, tired of Pratt’s perfect fucking happiness.

“What?”

“You ever fuck around in college? Experiment? Let yourself get dicked down at a frat party? Blow someone in a classroom?”

Pratt wasn’t as thrown as Jacob had hopped, but he did just blinked at him for a moment, silent as he processed Jacob’s raunchy question after days of normal ones.

“…I did, some,” Pratt finally answered, frowning slightly, “Why?”

“Just wanna know what kind of person you are Pratt,” Jacob leaned back in his chair, letting his legs spread as loosely apart as they could with his ankles bound, “Just tryin’ to get to know you. See if you’re a prude or secretly a bit of a slut. What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“You’re in a strange mood. I thought we were past this.”

“You don’t gotta answer, it’s okay if you wanna just say it was a slow fucking on a beach with your one true love, all vanilla and shit,” Jacob gave him a huge grin with too much teeth, and he half hoped Pratt would hit him, he was itching for some contact, to sink his fists into something, even as a voice in his head told him that he couldn’t hit Pratt back.

“I think I’ll keep it to myself.”

“Aww, you a virgin, Peaches?”

Pratt sighed, turning toward the door to call out for the guards, for Jacob to be thrown back outside, maybe command he be sprayed down with a hose until he cooled off, but he seemed to think better of it, and he looked back at Jacob, a new gleam in his eye that made Jacob shiver, eager to listen.

“I went over to Atlantic City for spring break my junior year.”

Jacob leaned forward.

“My roommate’s dad had scored us some free hotel rooms, nothing fancy, but better than I’d ever stayed at before, and I was real grateful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so me and my roommate are bunking, and his dad, who had some business shit to do, has got his own room and left us alone most of the time. I had just turned twenty-one, could legally do whatever I wanted, and the beach was full of college students, even though the water was fucking freezing. You know how we kids can be.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, my roommate’s gone off with some guy from down South, fuckin’ Florida man in Atlantic City in the middle of April, he offers to find him somewhere warm, takes him up to our room, leavin’ me with nowhere to go.”

“Now ain’t that inconsiderate,” Jacob watched Pratt’s hands where they were running along the metal of the harmonica, fingers long.

“S’okay, his dad was in the room next door.”

Jacob’s mouth went dry, and his cock twitched in his jeans.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and I was real grateful.”

“Older men do it for you?”

“Maybe.”

Jacob looked up to meet Pratt’s gaze, but found something much darker there than he had been expecting. Pratt’s teasing smile had pulled back to bare teeth, and the shadows in his eyes extinguished the fire burning in Jacob’s stomach.

“You want to know what happened next? You wanna hear the details?”

Jacob shook his head, suddenly cold.

“Good, well, if we’re done,” Pratt reached out to uncap the projector, not looking at Jacob again, “Let’s get started.”

The next morning, Jacob woke up thinking of Pratt, his cock painfully hard and pressed into the mud, and he thought of Pratt’s eyes, the darkness that had lingered there. The sky was lightening, the sun on the verge of emerging from behind the mountains, and Jacob growled, feeling aflush with shame as he ground his hips down into the ground, feeling pain and pleasure spark up his spine.

He was still half asleep, not fully coherent, or at least, that’s what he told himself as he thought of Pratt and lifted his hips to shove a hand down his jeans. He thought of Pratt’s hand on his cheek, his lips on the harmonica, and the praise he always whispered to Jacob.

_Good, so good_.

He pushed away thoughts of what Pratt had said, of Pratt’s roommate and his father, and he tried to just not fucking think.

When Pratt came to collect him an hour later, his eyes dragged over Jacob’s body, taking in the bite mark on Jacob’s arm where he’d muffled his noises and the limp sprawl of his legs, relaxed and open. He couldn’t smell the come on his fingers, feel the wetness in his jeans, or have heard how Jacob whispered his name when he came, but Jacob knew he knew, and _shame shame shame._

“Good morning,” Jacob greeted him from the ground.

“Good morning,” Pratt wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t leave Jacob to lie in the mud, as Jacob had expected. Instead he had his guards haul him to his feet and Jacob was marched into the Center to be shoved into a shower.

He went in fully dressed, his clothes as filthy as he was, and he was given five minutes to wash the filth from his body while Pratt watched, leaning against the wall while Jacob striped down to scrub at his skin and wring out his clothes, the water running brown.

Pratt didn’t speak to him that day as he sat, wet and dripping in his chair, and Jacob was thankful, welcoming the pull down into the white. When he woke up gasping, two bullets in his leg and one through his neck, Pratt was there, and he almost sobbed as he felt Pratt’s hand on his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, pressing into Pratt’s touch, “I’m sorry, you want me for my strength, but I was Weak.”

“It’s ok,” Pratt whispered, stroking his thumb along his face, “You’ll do better tomorrow.”

Jacob did do better, every day he did better, staying alive longer, killing faster, but it never seemed to matter, the soldiers kept coming and he kept dying, trying in vain to protect the cabin behind him.

Jacob was furious. He had just woken from his fourteenth run through and had a phantom knife in him stomach, and for once he was pissed not at Pratt, but at himself.

“I don’t understand,” he growled, already leaning toward Pratt’s hand before it even reached his cheek “How the fuck do I win? How can I do better?”

“You want to do better?”

“Yes.”

“If I ask you to do something for me, will you?”

“_Yes_.”

Pratt’s fingers brushed absentmindedly along one of Jacob’s scars, looking into Jacob’s eyes, and Jacob pulled back slightly as he realized what he’d said, the blank check he’d offered.

“Shh, shh, don’t do that,” Pratt frowned as Jacob pulled away and something in Jacob’s chest whined to see Pratt unhappy. He leaned back, pressing his cheek to Pratt’s hand.

_God, what the fuck has he done to me._

“It wouldn’t be hard,” Pratt promised, cooed, “It’d make me very happy, you might even enjoy it.”

“You flatter me.”

The comeback held none of the bite it had before, and Jacob was dizzy with how quickly he’d fallen, how much the idea of doing something to make Pratt happy made his stomach warm with anticipation.

“I want you to take some of my Followers hunting. There’s a family of bears nearby that have been giving us some trouble.”

Jacob could do that.

“I can do that.”

“If you try to run, my Followers will shoot you.”

“I won’t run.”

Pratt searched his face, and he must have liked what he’d seen, because he nodded and smiled.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Jacob didn’t exactly have a choice, but he stayed quiet as Pratt slipped out of the room. Alone, he let his thoughts wander, as they so often did, to his siblings.

He worried about Joseph and John mostly. Faith seemed like she was in better hands with Whitehorse, but John’s mouth was no doubt getting him in trouble with Hudson and he had no idea where Joseph was. Were they suffering? Were they enduring the same kind of things as Jacob? The weeks of starvation seemed so far away now, replaced with _Pratt_, and Jacob meant it when he said he wasn’t going to run.

Not yet anyway.

Pratt surely had others who could track, so this was Pratt offering him a chance, a chance to gain his trust, to show he could obey.

_Plus it will please him._

Jacob let the last thought sink into his skin, feeling it warm him, and he watched the wall as he waited for Pratt to come back.

When the door opened again, it wasn’t Pratt, but his guards, who moved to unstrap Jacob and pull him up. Jacob went, silent and willing, but the guards still dug bruises into his arms, not trusting him for a second.

He was escorted downstairs where Pratt waited, three Followers, armed and dressed for hiking, standing in front of him. Two of them were quite young, new recruits, freshly loyal, if Jacob had to guess, and the third was older, and he fixed Jacob with a look that told him who would be shooting him in the back if he tried to run.

Jacob could take them.

Pratt introduced his team, including one of his guards among the group—two guns to point at Jacob’s back— then he handed Jacob a knife to strap to his leg.

“No gun?”

“I’m not stupid.”

Jacob grunted.

“Don’t let me down, Jacob,” Pratt leaned in for a moment, one set of strong hands still holding Jacob’s upper arm, “Show me you can behave.”

Jacob held his gaze and nodded, the knife heavy and present on his leg. Then he was being pushed forward, the hands leaving his arms and he led his team out of the Center, unbound and uncaged for the first time since the church.

Jacob didn’t run. The temptation was certainly there, and even with two pairs of eyes constantly drilling into the back of his head, Jacob was fairly confident that if he’d been given a gun, the smallest window of opportunity would have given him a decent chance. But Pratt wasn’t that stupid and Jacob didn’t have a gun, and stealing one from the younger Followers would prove difficult as they gave him a wide berth at all times.

So Jacob did what he’d been asked to do and tracked the bear family. It had rained overnight, washing away prints and other evidence, but Jacob managed to find the trail, silently leading the team further into the forest.

It felt good to be out, stretching his legs for real, feeling like he actually had something to do, a Purpose, and Jacob found himself on the edge of enjoying the trek.

They found the bears down by a river four miles from the Center, Jacob hanging back, knife in hand with Pratt’s guard waiting beside him, while the other three crept down.

In the end, it had been nothing, tracking and killing the bears had been easy-- one of the new Followers had been forced down into the river, coming up spluttered, but the rest escaped dry and unharmed. Jacob had helped skin the animals, taking what meat they could carry, and the trek back passed without incident. All in all, a job well done, and Pratt’s smile upon their return made a part of Jacob desperate to do it again, to do anything to please him.

Both the military and Pratt had broken Jacob down using discipline, the former using much more yelling and the latter doing much more starving, but the way Pratt built people back up was gentler, lacing a fine web of devotion and obedience, making his Followers happy to serve, making them forget the first few week of their confinement where he’d held them on the edge of death.

Pratt had stuck a balance between being well feared and well loved, Jacob could see it in the way the new recruits interacted with him, the one who had fallen in the river blushing with shame and promising to do better, and even though Jacob could see it, could see the trap he was being pulled into, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop the feelings that were replacing the hatred and anger he’d felt toward Pratt in that church.

Devotion, an urge to serve, a longing for _Purpose._

_Pratt, Pratt, Pratt._


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t until Jacob’s eighteenth run through that he finally asked.

“Why are you doing this?”

Pratt didn’t look surprised at the question, sitting on the table next to an empty bowl of ground beef and pasta while Jacob watched him from his chair.

“All jokes aside, do you read the newspapers?”

“No, reading that shit makes my blood boil.”

“The world’s gone to shit.”

“So you decided to start a cult?”

“I decided,” Pratt gave him a look that told him to shut up if he actually wanted Pratt to tell him, “that I wanted to survive it. I know this is gonna sound like nonsense, especially to you, but The Deputy has a gift, she’s seen the end coming. The world is going to change, going to end, and if we are going to survive it, we need every person to do their part.”

Well, that was not what Jacob had been expecting, ‘cause yeah, utter fuckin’ nonsense, but Jacob stayed silent, letting Pratt continue.

“We’re building bunkers to keep our Followers safe, and The Deputy wants us to save every person we can. That’s where I come in.”

Pratt gestured to the curtained windows, beyond which the rest of Hope County lay, “Almost every Follower comes through me, for weapons training, but also to learn loyalty, to bind them to the cause. Not all of them come willingly, you know that, but by the end they are loyal.”

“You realize how fucking insane that sounds, right?”

“I know, but it is the will of The Deputy, and I believe in her.”

“So you’re gonna save yourselves through your little slideshow and musical act?” Jacob gritted his teeth, feeling anger he had not felt since his first few weeks with Pratt raise up, “This is why you damn near starved me to death? This is why my family isn’t safe? This little shit show you’ve got going on is gonna fall apart when nothing fucking happens and you realize your Deputy is full of shit. Y’all are like every other prepper in this god damn county, talkin’ out of you're a-

“Do you actually care, Jacob?”

That brought Jacob up short.

“What?”

“Do you actually care about what we’re doing or why?” Pratt tilted his head, voice level in the face of Jacob’s anger, “If your family was safe, if you had no reason to worry about them, would you care?”

_No._

There was a traitorous little voice in his head.

“I would care.”

“Really?”

_No._

“What has this world ever done for you, Jacob?”

_Nothing._

“I could do so much for you, if you’d let me. I could give you Purpose again, a reason to care.”

_Purpose, Purpose, Purpose._

Pratt uncapped the projector, Jacob’s anger cooling in his chest as his heart began to beat, fast and loud in his chest, a strange feeling uncurling inside him.

“I’ve watched you Jacob, the killing doesn’t bother you,” Pratt licked his lips, and Jacob’s eyes tracked the movement, “You don’t have to believe in our cause, and you also don’t have to believe in The Deputy. But aren’t you tired of pretending?”

_Yes._

“Do you believe in the things that your brother preached?”

_Not really._

Pratt smiled, like he could hear Jacob’s unspoken answers, and he raised his harmonica up to his lips.

“Just believe in me, Jacob, I’m all you’ll need.”

Pratt blew one long note that echoed through Jacob’s entire body, making his shiver, making him _want_.

“Pratt,” he whispered, feeling something rise in his chest, but Pratt’s song began, and soon he slipped down into white.

He woke in the forest—sunlight, birds, Judge barking—and he looked down at his gun and felt that urge to protect within him.

_Safe, safe, safe._

It was different though, like a switch had been flicked in his mind, and with his chest aching, Jacob moved, for the first time letting the gun slip from his hands, and he ran in the only direction he hadn’t tried yet. He ran towards the cabin, reaching it as he heard the first gunshot ring out behind him. He grabbed the doorknob and wrenched at it, but it was locked. He slammed his shoulder into it, but the door didn’t even shudder. He tried again, and again, his shoulder aching as he slammed it into the door over and over again.

“Let me in,” he snarled, kicking the door as he heard his enemies beginning to approach, “Let me in! Pratt!”

_Not safe, not safe, not safe._

He cursed, kicked, punched at the door, but it didn’t move, and all too soon, he felt a splitting pain in the back of his head.

He woke, gasping.

Pratt was still sitting on the table, harmonica in hand. He wasn’t smiling, and Jacob couldn’t breathe.

“You were close, Jacob.”

Jacob tried to drag in air, listening for Pratt’s breathing, but Pratt was too far away.

“Let’s try again.”

Then a single, solid, tinny note sounded again, and for the first time, Jacob was pulled down into the white for a second time without rest, still struggling for air.

Forest. Sunlight. Birds. Judge.

_Safe, safe, safe. You were close_.

Jacob could feel Pratt, could feel him in the sunlight, in the song drifting through the forest, and the pain was gone, he could breathe. He focused on that feeling, closing his eyes for just a moment before he dropped the gun and turned for the cabin, running as a gunshot rang out.

He checked the cabin’s walls, but when he touched the windows, they felt hard, like wood, and the side door was missing. He ended up standing in front of the front door again, staring at it, trying to think, trying to understand.

_Not safe, not safe, not safe._

The enemies were closing in, and the urge to defend swelled.

“Protect,” he muttered, clenching his fist, then letting it relax, letting instinct run through him, sharpening his mind, “Okay, no one gets past me.”

He reached down to pull the knife out of its sheath and turned to press his back to the door.

This time, as the beings came at him, Jacob thought only of Pratt, _protect Pratt_, and he lunged, cutting them down, keeping close enough to the door that there was not a chance that anyone could slip by, his back smacking up against the wood every time he stepped back. He would guard the door until he died, he would kill as many as it god damn took, fuck _anyone_ who tries.

Only about twenty tried, and twenty died, and then they stopped.

Jacob stared around, covered in blood, knuckles white around his knife, but no one else came. The forest was quiet again, the sunlight starting to dry the blood on Jacob’s arms.

He turned and looked at the door.

_Safe, Safe, Safe._

He reached out for the door handle. He didn’t rush for it, didn’t yank on it, and he slowly, gently, tried to turn it.

_Protect, Protect, Protect._

The knob gave a click, and Jacob pushed the door open.

_Good._

Pratt was waiting inside, sitting on his old, yard sale couch, Judge’s head lolled lazily in his lap. He looked so at home there that Jacob’s heart ached and all he could do was stare. Pratt looked up, meeting Jacob’s wide-eyed gaze, and he absolutely beamed.

Jacob opened his eyes, and for once, he wasn’t gasping.

He was calm, warm, no phantom bullet in his chest or knife in his throat.

“Perfect, Jacob, perfect.”

Pratt’s eyes were alight with excitement and two hands pressed against Jacob’s cheeks, cupping his face, warm and close, “You were perfect, so good. Your place is with me, do you understand?”

Jacob thought of him, sitting in his home, petting his dog, waiting for him, and he needed… something, he needed to be out, he _needed_…

The calm disappeared and he wrenched at his bounds, feeling the wood groan under him as his heart began to race in his chest, and he felt desperate, twisting at the leather straps, cutting them into his wrists.

“Whoa whoa, calm down,” Pratt’s fingers pressed into his skin, keeping his head still, brow furrowing, “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck, _fuck_,” Jacob needed to be out of this chair, he needed his hands freed.

“Shh, Jacob, it’s safe here,” Pratt tried to keep his voice soft, trying to calm him, but Jacob felt a mess, didn’t understand half the fucking emotions going through him, there was just a part of him that needed to reach out, to, he didn’t know, make sure Pratt was real? To touch him, just once, of his own volition.

There was a loud crack, the sound of wood splintering, as Jacob yanked his arms forward and the wood of the chair’s right arm split free from the back. Pratt shoved back, and Jacob saw his eyes widen, the surprise and fear in his face, and he opened his mouth to yell, to scream for his guards, but Jacob coiled a fist into his jacket and wrenched him down into a kiss.

Jacob felt Pratt’s gasp against his lips, and he pressed up while his hand pulled down, trying to touch as much of Pratt as he could while he kissed the breath from his lungs, drinking it into his own. Pratt tasted sweet, Jacob always knew he would, and he pressed his tongue into Pratt’s mouth, his blood singing as Pratt let out a low moan even as he shoved at Jacob’s chest.

They broke apart, Pratt gasping, and Jacob felt truly alive for the first time in weeks. He looked into Pratt’s eyes, looked at his flushed face, his lips, and he felt something inside him purr, warm, _Pratt. He’s here._

The warmth didn’t fade, even as Pratt regained enough breath to shout and the doors burst open, his guards moving lightning quick. Jacob let go of Pratt, who stumbled back, and the world tilted in a rush as one of the guards slammed into his side, sending both them and the chair crashing to the ground. The other stood over them, his boot coming down hard on Jacob’s free wrist.

Jacob barely felt it. He had his eyes on Pratt, who was staring down at him, still trying to regain his breath. The fear was still in his eyes—but it was mixing with a kind of amazement, and Jacob watched him touch his lips, his fingers shaking, then lower his hand down to his throat.

_I could have killed him._

The guards manhandling him from the chair, pinning him down and dragging his hands behind his back to handcuff them, but still the warmth, the hunger, lingered.

_I could have killed him, but I didn’t, I never will, pRatT, PrAtT, PRATT._

Jacob was left in his cage for a week. He was still brought food and water, once in the morning, once in the evening, but Pratt didn’t come and soon, as the tingle of Pratt’s lips against his began to fade and the warm cooled in his chest, the food started to taste like ash in Jacob’s mouth.

_Shame, shame, shame._

He shouldn’t have done it, should have behaved like Pratt wanted, should have kept a handle on his emotions, and three days into his isolation, he stopped eating. He drank the water, but left the food, even when his stomach began to cramp and growl, he left it untouched. The guards continued to bring it, coming back an hour later to take it away again, and the other prisoners looked at Jacob like they wanted to set him on fire. Jacob ignored them and thought of _Pratt, Pratt, Pratt._

_It wasn’t worth it, you fucking fool, you fucking, fucking fool._

On the eighth day, a guard brought him breakfast, sausage, eggs, and potatoes, and he spoke to Jacob for the first time.

“Pratt says to eat.”

Jacob ate every bite, swallowing it down and licking the plate clean before setting it down outside the bars, waiting.

Pratt’s guards came for him at noon. The bruises from their fingers had just started to fade from Jacob’s arms, and they refreshed them as they led him into the Center, rougher than before.

Pratt was already in the projector room, standing before the bookcases in the back. Jacob barely caught a glimpse of him before he was shoved down into a chair facing the front and strapped down. The guards triple checked the restraints before they left him alone with Pratt. The curtains in the room were open for once, letting sunlight in, and Jacob could see the projector was unplugged.

Pratt moved behind him, and Jacob listened.

He heard his footsteps, coming closer, and soon he felt hands come to rest on his shoulders, the touch light, familiar. Jacob stayed silent, wishing he could see Pratt. He felt the soft brush of hair against his ear, felt breath ghost along the lobe, and Pratt spoke.

“You stepped out of line.”

Jacob stayed quiet as the fingers on his shoulder flexed, digging in.

_I know I did._

“Are you capable of being gentle, Jacob?”

_Yes, I am_.

“I showed you a scene, where I was happy and safe, and you responded by breaking a chair and putting your hands on me.”

_I’m sorry._

“I’ve had men touch me like that before, Jacob. Those men are no longer alive.”

“Good,” Jacob couldn’t keep it back, “Because if they were, I’d kill them.”

Pratt slapped the side of his head, catching his ear.

It was nothing compared to everything else Jacob had endured, just a smack, but it was the first time Pratt had personally hit him, and it sent a chill through him and left his head stinging.

“I know you're a violent man, Jacob,” Pratt continued, laying his hand back down on Jacob’s shoulder like nothing had happened, “I know I won’t be able to train that out of you, and I certainly wouldn’t want to—you’d be no good to me that way. But tell me, are you capable of being gentle? Of obeying?”

“Yes,” Jacob whispered.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

_Shame, shame, shame. _

“You showed such promise, did so well with the little bit of freedom I gave you, but the second you had the chance, you hurt me.”

_SHAME, SHAME, SHAME._

“I tell you that an older man touched me, and you got off to it. Did it feel good, Jacob? Did you enjoy it?”

“_No_,” Jacob throat ached, and he _hated, hated, hated_ himself.

“Would it make you feel good if I told you I liked the kiss? Would that make you feel like a man?”

Jacob shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach, and Pratt squeezed his shoulders, nails digging in through his shirt.

“Should I give up on you?”

“_Pratt.”_

Pratt let go of him, then stepped around to stand in front of him, looking down at him with eyes like fire, but keeping his voice dangerously quiet, “We were finished with your training, I thought you would be ready, but already you seem to have forgotten who is in control here. You took without asking, without permission.”

Pratt reached out, pressing his thumb against Jacob’s lips, and the touch burned. Jacob wanted to lean into it, to tell him he could be good, but he didn’t dare to move.

“Do you hate me?” Pratt asked, quietly.

“No,” Jacob’s voice nearly broke on the word.

“Do you want to hurt me?”

“No, never,” Jacob’s core burned.

“You want to do better?”

“_Yes_,” Jacob felt desperate, gazing up at Pratt, “Yes, just tell me how.”

Pratt pulled his hand away, and Jacob had to bite back a whine, watching as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small picture. He glanced it over, then turned it to show Jacob. It was a picture of the Baron Lumber Mill.

“I have another job for you.”

“Anything.”

“You use to volunteer here, right?”

“Yeah, odd jobs now and then.”

“Good, I want you to take it.”

“Take it?”

Pratt smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Like we did at Rae Rae’s Pumpkin Farm. The owners won’t sell, so you’ll clear them out. By force.”

Jacob stared at the picture, and he couldn’t help remembering what he’d heard about Rae Rae’s place— Rae Rae and her husband killed in a drive by shooting. Jacob remembered wondering who the fuck was doing drive by shootings in fucking Hope County, Montana. That was when he’d first become suspicious of the police, when he’d asked the Sherriff about it and promptly been brushed off.

“Jess Black, who has become quite the thorn in our side, is rumored to be hanging out there with some of the Whitetail militia,” Pratt tucked the picture back into his pocket, “Which might be a blessing in disguise, we’ve been looking to track her down. You can kill or capture her, I have no strong preference.”

Jacob was silent.

“Nothing to say?”

“That’s a lot of people to kill,” Jacob’s voice was quiet.

“You said anything,” Pratt’s voice echoed his, leaning down closer to Jacob, eyes cold, “and I thought we were done with pretending.”

“What if I won’t do it?”

“Then I’ll go, and you will be brought back to your cage, and you will never see me again.”

_No._

“If I do this, you’ll forgive me?” Jacob asked, digging his nails into the chair, shoving the images of Rae Rae and her husband out of his mind.

“Yes, I’ll give you a second chance. Plus, I’ll throw in a bonus.”

“A bonus?”

“Yes, I was thinking I’d reach out to Joey, set you up a meeting with your brother, maybe your sister too.”

He’d underestimated Pratt’s ability to wipe every other thought from his mind.

“John and Faith?”

“Yep,” Pratt’s smile widened, oh, he knew he had him, “I know family is the most important thing to you. Do this for me and you’ll see at least John, gotta check in with Whitehorse about Faith. He likes to keep to himself, too much young energy in the bunch for him I think.”

“If I do this” _when I do this_ “will you be with me?”

“I’ll be there if you need backup,” Pratt’s eyes gleamed, “But I don’t think you will.”

Jacob took a deep breath, then slowly, painfully, let it out.

To have Pratt and see his brother. It wasn’t even a choice anymore.

“I’ll do it.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry,” it was a whisper, and Pratt faltered for a moment, his cold smile dropping as he looked into Jacob’s eyes.

“It was a mistake, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Pratt’s fingers touched Jacob’s face again, a familiar weight on his cheek, and the moment was almost warm, almost sweet, but Pratt’s hand didn’t linger and the moment was over.

“I’ll need a sniper rifle. Mine, preferably,” Jacob pulled himself together, and Pratt stepped away, going to lean against the table.

“We raided your house, there was no rifle.”

“Yeah well, I don’t leave my guns just lying around.”

He’d stashed them in his wall in case anyone ever came round and decided to try their luck while he was out. They were really his only things of value. Well, them and the music box.

_Miller._

“They’re custom weapons, I’d do better if I had them.”

“Then let’s go get them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet. This chapter was harder to write then most, it's been mostly finished for a few days but I kept playing around with it because it wasn't quite right. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the story thus far, I really enjoy reading your comments and seeing the kudos count! The next chapter will be up soon. :)  
I'm gonna be publishing a new oneshot soon, completely separate from this story but with the same pairing, so if you're interested, please check it out!


	6. Chapter 6

When Pratt had agreed to get the weapons, Jacob had expected he’d ask for their location and send a team out to Jacob’s cabin to collect them. He’d said, “let’s go get them,” but Jacob had figured he meant it in a vague sort of, someone will get them kind of way.

But, evidently, Pratt meant it as he said it and Jacob found his hands being handcuffed behind his back as he was loaded into a pickup truck at six in the morning, half an hour before dawn. One of Pratt’s guards, the one who had stomped on his wrist, double-checked the cuffs, tightening them as far as they would go, then used a second pair to cuff Jacob to the handle of the door.

Jacob rolled his eyes, but kept silent, returning the glare the guard gave him. He’d half expected to take two cars—he didn’t expect Pratt to be the kind of person to drive himself around while his guards sat in the pickup bed, but to his surprise, Pratt slid into the driver’s seat and his guards stepped back, calling for the Center doors to be opened.

“We’re going alone?”

“Were you hoping for more company?” Pratt pulled on his seatbelt and started up the car.

“No, I’d rather the chucklefucks stay here, but I’ve never seen you outside without guards,” Jacob watched Pratt’s face, then let his eyes scan down Pratt’s body. Did he even have a gun?

“Enjoying the view?”

“You armed?”

Pratt put the car into drive and flashed him a smile, “To the teeth.”

It wasn’t a particularly reassuring answer, and Jacob couldn’t help rolling his eyes again as they sped out of the gates, but he figured that since Pratt had survived this long, he’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

“You know where you’re going?”

“Yeah, I’ve been to your place before, I’m sure you remember.”

Yeah, Jacob remembered.

They drove mostly in silence, Pratt occasionally honking as they passed through roadblocks, raising his hand in greeting, his Followers eagerly returning the gesture, calling out and beaming as he passed.

Fuck, he really did have the region wrapped around his finger.

Jacob saw no sign of the militia as they drove, but he hadn’t expected to. One, non-describe, silver pick-up didn’t exactly scream Followers of Peace, and it was early enough that he was able to speed most of the way without any problems.

“You’re driving a little fast, Deputy.”

“Shit, I hope the police don’t see me.”

Jacob had to crack a smile at that.

Jacob’s cabin was about twenty minutes away from the Center, tucked up at the edge of a patch of forest that moved up into the mountains. He liked the location for its sense of isolation; his nearest neighbor, the notorious Mr. Scriver, was a good five minute drive away and the post office didn’t even deliver there. The only guests Jacob had ever had were his siblings and one charming, very pretty Deputy.

The sun was just starting to come up as they turned onto the dirt road that led up to the cabin, and Pratt drove until the road ended, throwing the car into park and killing the engine. It was quiet and cold, and Jacob couldn’t help a shiver as Pratt rolled down the passenger side window before he got out and came around.

“Behave, yeah?” he looked Jacob in the eye and Jacob nodded.

“Yeah.”

Pratt reached through the window to unlock the cuffs that secured Jacob to the car handle, then opened the door, his hands warm on Jacob’s shoulder as he helped him out. He left Jacob to peer around while he walked to the back of the pickup, grabbing a waiting duffle bag and pulling a rifle out of it, checking that it was fully loaded and switching the safety off before he nodded at Jacob, duffle bag swung over his shoulder.

“Lead the way.”

It had been more than a month since Jacob had been home, and it was strange to walk the familiar path up towards his cabin. He’d done the walk drunk and bone-dead tired before, but never with his arms tied behind him, and he felt a little clumsy as the hill got steeper, but he stayed on his feet as the cabin came into view, looking mostly as he had left it.

Seeing it in person, after seeing it so many times in his sessions with Pratt, was fucking bizarre, and Jacob felt uneasy. He heard the call of a bird, loud in the morning quiet, and he tensed, eyes darting over the tree line, waiting for it to grow denser, for enemies to emerge, and even without the music, he felt the urge to protect, to defend.

“It’s okay,” Pratt’s shoulder brushed against his, and the Enforcer stepped forward, taking the lead towards the cabin, “It’s just us here. It’s safe.”

_Safe, safe, safe._

Pratt was right-- no beings emerged from the woods, no gun shot rang out, and there were no dogs barking, and Jacob wondered, as he slowly relaxed, what had happened to Judge.

“You know where my dog is?”

“He wasn’t here with my men searched the place.”

Maybe not dead then—Judge had more wolf than dog in him, maybe he’d run off into the woods, joined a pack, and was hunting militia and Followers alike when they strayed into the woods.

The front door of Jacob’s house was gone, the Followers having no doubt decided it was easier to blast their way in then try to think their way through the half dozen locks Jacob had installed. Pratt stepped through the entry way, rifle at the ready, just in case, and Jacob watched him go before he followed, reflexively wiping his boots on the mat outside before he entered.

The inside was, more or less, how he’d left it. The Followers hadn’t ransacked it too badly, mostly because Jacob didn’t have much to ransack. He was a simple man of simple taste who didn’t keep worthless shit in his house.

The front door opened into the living room, and Pratt glanced around, taking in the yard sale couch, the dog bed on the floor, and he reached out to touch the picture frame on Jacob’s coffee table, a picture of his family, then picked up the book next to it, checking the cover before setting it back down, “Harry Potter?”

“Yeah,” Faith had recommended it to him, aghast that Jacob had never read it, but Jacob hadn’t gotten very far in, too restless to sit for long.

Pratt peered around some more, poking through what little stuff Jacob had in the living room. Jacob watched him explore, feeling strangely relaxed about Pratt being in his space, even enjoying himself a bit as Pratt snorted when he picked up Jacob’s block of a Novak phone and asked him if he even owned a computer.

“Nope, don’t need one.”

“How do you watch porn?”

“I have my ways.”

“Aah, public library?”

Pratt hadn’t been able to keep a straight face at his own joke and he turned away from Jacob as he cracked up, shoving his face against his own arm to stifle his laughter. Oh, if that didn’t make Jacob smile, warm from his ears to his toes.

When Pratt had regained his composure, shaking his head and throwing the phone onto the couch, he moved on to the kitchen. His men had already taken the nonperishables that Jacob had stocked up, leaving the kitchen bare. Still, Pratt gave it a glance through, opening cupboards and drawers.

“Looking for my deep, dark secrets?”

“I already know all your deep, dark secrets.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you can’t keep your Jimmy Buffett obsession from me,” Pratt pulled the margaritaville magnet off Jacob’s otherwise bare fridge, holding it up for Jacob to snort at.

“It was a gift from John.”

“Sure it was. It’s a shame you didn’t invite me in the first time I came,” Pratt stuck the magnet back on the fridge, moving to open Jacob’s empty pantry, “I’d have liked to see it before my men took everything.”

Jacob remembered Pratt’s visit, the stupid, stupid amount of trust he’d put in Pratt after a few sweet words, and for days after, he’d also wished he’d invited Pratt in.

_How ‘bout a beer, Officer?_

_How ‘bout a snack, Officer?_

_How ‘bout I get down on my knees and suck you off in the kitchen, Officer?_

Stupid, stupid Jacob.

“I’d have let you right fuckin’ in,” Jacob watched Pratt run a finger along the picture frame over his sink, one of Faith and Judge that Joseph had given him a few months ago, fuck did he actually own anything he’d bought himself?

“Had me actin’ like a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Hmm, I had come prepared for more resistance, you were pleasantly receptive,” Pratt looked over his shoulder to give Jacob a smile, the same one he’d given that day, and Jacob _wanted_.

“You were pretty.”

“I know.”

Pratt’s smile twisted a little, and Jacob had a feeling he’d misstepped as Pratt turned and moved toward him, coming up into his space.

“Did you want to invite me in that day?”

“Yes,” Jacob lowered his voice, trying to make it soft, “You made me want to show off, had me showing you the entire damn property, didn’t you?”

“And what would you have showed me in here?”

There was a dangerous glint in Pratt’s eyes, and Jacob could sense the trap, but wasn’t sure how to sidestep it and also be honest. He settled for staying silent, and Pratt frowned like he was disappointed, the look making Jacob’s insides whine to please him, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Show me the guns.”

Jacob turned away from Pratt and silently led him down the hall to his bedroom. He used his foot to push open the door and moved to lean against the wall next to his bed, watching as Pratt began poking around in here too.

Jacob had thought of Pratt more than once in this room after Pratt’s visit, and his face burned with shame more than anything else as he waited.

_Stupid, stupid Jacob._

Pratt opened his closet, looking at the empty hangers his men had left behind, and Jacob was thankful he had never needed much beyond his hand to get himself off, that were was no secret box of goodies for Pratt to uncover.

Jacob’s eyes moved to the bedside table.

Well, maybe one box for Pratt to discover.

Jacob wondered if his men had already taken it.

Pratt closed the closet and moved into the connecting bathroom, and Jacob heard him opening drawers and pulling back the shower curtain.

“Jesus Christ, Jacob, you put this shit on your body?”

Pratt popped his head out, holding Jacob’s body wash, a generic lemon scented bottle that was half empty.

“It’s cheap,” Jacob shrugged.

“Yeah, I fucking know,” Pratt tossed the bottle onto the floor and withdraw back into the bathroom, and Jacob heard him shout a moment later.

“JESUS CHRIST, two in one shampoo and conditioner? Come on!”

“It’s cheap!” Jacob called back, smiling, and Pratt emerged from the bathroom with a scowl on his face.

“What are you gonna do when you get down into that bunker of yours? You got enough precious product to last?” Jacob chuckled as the bottle of two in one joined the body wash on the floor.

“We’re not in the bunker yet, show yourself some care,” Pratt moved to look under Jacob’s bed, scoffing when he saw only empty space.

“Seriously, is there no porn in this entire house?”

“Not all of us are fresh out of our college days.”

“Or maybe you store it with your guns, your most precious possessions.”

Jacob grinned, watching the physical effort it took for Pratt not to bust up again, Pratt pressing a hand to his smiling mouth as he straightened up, small chuckles escaping from behind his fingers as he glanced around, his eyes finally settling on the bedside table.

Jacob felt, again, strangely calm as Pratt stepped toward it and pulled the top drawer open. It was empty expect for a bible that Joseph had given him, another gift, the spine still stiff despite the months that Jacob had had it.

“You religious, Pratt?” Jacob asked as Pratt picked it up, opening the cover and running his eyes over the message that Joseph had written inside.

“I use to go to church, abuela wouldn’t let me miss it.”

“And now?”

“No,” Pratt closed the bible again, tapping his thumb against the cover with a frown before he put it back, closing the drawer quietly before kneeling down to pull open the one below it.

There were two objects in the lower drawer, and Jacob watched as Pratt picked up the first. It was a picture, this one without a frame, and it was older, the paper weared thin and the color distorted by the oil of Jacob’s fingers.

It was a picture of a man, young, handsome, only about twenty, grinning at the camera, teeth bright white against darker skin. His hair was buzzed, no beard to be seen, and he was in light camouflage, the name J. Miller stitched into the pocket of his uniform.

Pratt was silent as he looked at it, Jacob watching him from against the wall. Pratt flipped the picture over to look at the back, but found it blank, and he looked up at Jacob, and Jacob felt his heart tighten as he saw how unsure Pratt looked.

“It won’t hurt my feelings if you ask,” Jacob offered him. Pratt had answered his questions every day back in the Projector Room, letting Jacob learn him. It was only fair that he return the favor.

“He a friend of yours?”

“He was.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

Jacob could see Miller, could remember his smile, his laugh, the widening of his eyes, and the taste of him when Jacob had sucked him off in the barracks and then years later, when he had torn into him with his teeth in the desert.

He’d never told Joseph or John what he’d done in that desert, and he wondered, as he looked into Pratt’s eyes, what Pratt would think of him.

“I killed him,” Jacob spoke into the silence between them, and he lowered himself down to his knees, everything else falling away as he brought himself closer to Pratt in the quiet of his home.

Jacob told him, told him everything he could remember about Miller, every small detail, from their meeting to Jacob’s Sacrifice, from Miller’s laughs to the way he’d screamed when Jacob had killed him, from how Jacob had kissed him, fucked him, loved him, but still killed him anyway, still ate the flesh from his body and drained the blood from his veins.

Pratt listened, silent, the picture still in his hand, his eyes never leaving Jacob’s face as he poured out his soul, yet felt strangely detached, like it was someone else’s story, as he told him about Miller’s mother, who had sobbed as she thanked Jacob for bringing back her son’s tags, and Miller’s love of music.

“That’s his,” Jacob jerked his head toward the other object in the drawer, the music box that he’d taken from Miller’s body and carried the rest of the way back to camp. He told Pratt about how they’d use to wind it, dancing together whenever they found the time to be alone, and, Jacob laughed bitterly, about finding it in Miller’s jacket, unable to make himself leave it behind.

When he’d run out of memories, out of words, and Pratt was still sitting in front of him, still watching him instead of putting a bullet in his head, Jacob didn’t know how he should feel. He felt no guilt, no shame, as he looked into Pratt’s eyes. He felt lighter, felt the relief of telling someone, of baring his soul, and he was ready to accept Pratt’s judgment, whatever it might be.

“Does anyone else know about this?” Pratt asked him as more sunlight began to shine in from behind the curtain in Jacob’s room, the world waking up beyond the walls.

“No, no,” Jacob shook his head, “Only you, I’ve only told you.”

Pratt reached out, and Jacob felt his heart tighten in his chest as warm fingers touched his cheek.

“Only me?”

“Only you.”

Pratt nodded, brushing his thumb over Jacob’s scars, and Jacob turned his head, pressing his lips gently to Pratt’s fingers. Pratt’s touch stilled, but he didn’t pull back as Jacob kissed each finger, brushing his mouth along Pratt’s palm, moving to press a kiss over the pulse at his wrist, hearing Pratt inhale.

“I can be good,” he whispered against Pratt’s skin, feeling Pratt’s pulse beating beneath his lips, “I can be gentle.”

Pratt’s breath stuttered, just barely, but it made Jacob smile against his wrist and he looked at Pratt, pressing his cheek back into Pratt’s touch.

Pratt looked almost loss, unsure, at a crossroads as something desperate came to light in his eyes, and Jacob wished he could touch him, pull him into his arms, could tell him that this wasn’t a trap, wasn’t a trick. Jacob would behave.

“You’re in control,” Jacob whispered, closing his eyes, tilting his head further into Pratt’s touch, exposing his throat, and he heard Pratt take in a shaky breath before his other hand touched against Jacob’s throat, pressing over his pulse. He kept his eyes closed as he felt Pratt pull him forward, felt the ghost of lips over his, barely there, but more than he’d ever thought he’d have.

“Jacob,” Pratt murmured against him, a breath away.

_Yours. I’m Yours._

When Pratt pulled away, his hands falling away, Jacob felt at peace, felt light, acceptance soaking into every inch of him. _Pratt’s, Pratt’s, Pratt’s._

He opened his eyes and showed Pratt where the guns were, his sniper rifle and pistol, guiding him through pulling the panel out of the wall and retrieving the bright red weapons from the hallow wall.

They barely spoke as Pratt put them into the duffel bag he’d brought, zipping it and throwing it back over his shoulder. They left the music box and the picture of Miller behind, Jacob shaking his head when Pratt asked Jacob quietly if he wanted to take the mementos with them.

“I don’t need them.”

The guns were all they took, leaving the rest of the cabin as it was, Pratt closing the bedroom room door behind both of them and Jacob leading the way back to the truck. He waited by the passenger door as Pratt swung the duffel bag back into the pickup bed, storing his rifle again before he went to open the door for Jacob.

“If I don’t cuff you to the car, you gonna do anything stupid?”

“No.”

Jacob was left with just the one set of cuffs as Pratt moved to the driver’s side and started up the car, silent as they turned around.

Jacob thought one last time about the picture in his room, the smile on Miller’s face, then pushed it away, and watched Pratt as they began to speed back toward the Center.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning of the Lumber Mill raid, Pratt finally sat Jacob down in a chair and set to work trimming his beard, cutting away the grossness that Jacob hadn’t been able to get out in the shower and preparing it to be shaved properly.

Jacob could have done it himself, but letting Pratt do it meant having Pratt’s attention, having Pratt’s hands on his face, and so Jacob indulged him, his face warm beneath Pratt’s fingers as he turned his head this way and that, sniping at the hair.

When the hair was clean enough, short enough, Pratt reached out to push Jacob’s head back. Jacob let himself be moved, biting down a smile as Pratt’s fingers went through his hair, keeping his head still when Pratt’s hand moved away. He closed his eyes as he felt warm water touch his face, followed by cream as Pratt lathering up parts of Jacob’s under chin.

“I’m not looking to get rid of all of it,” Pratt had said while his guards strapped Jacob down, binding his hands to the chair, “Just want you to look more like a man and less like a sasquatch.”

Jacob appreciated that. He hadn’t been clean shaven since the army, and the hair hid most of the scars and burns on his lower face. It had been a hard beard to grow with the damage to his face, and he’d had to ask John for help with ointments and pills after Joseph and John had found him at the shelter.

He felt metal press against his throat and he opened his eyes to watch Pratt as he scrapped the knife along Jacob’s skin, wiping the hair and cream off on Jacob’s shirt.

“Gee, thanks,” Jacob said, feeling the shirt grow damp.

“Don’t worry, I’m feeling generous today,” Pratt smiled, continuing to wipe excess off on the fabric, “You’re getting your jacket back.”

Jacob’s arms twitched in his restraints as he felt the urge to touch Pratt again, to reach out, but he just smiled, digging his fingers into the wood to make them behave.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Pratt dragged the knife over Jacob’s skin until the under part of his chin was smooth, leaving the hair along the sides and on his chin. He hummed quietly as he worked, an all too familiar tune, then stepped back to admire his work.

“Good.”

He pressed a cool towel over Jacob’s neck and chin, letting it sit there as he cleaned up his supplies. They were in the Projector Room with the curtains wide open and the projector turned off, but Jacob felt as relaxed as he did when Pratt played the harmonica for him.

Pratt pulled the towel off and applied some moisturizer, smoothing the itch of freshly shaved skin. His hands ran down Jacob’s throat, curling slightly, applying the smallest amount of pressure before he pulled back.

“Finished.”

“I’d like to tip my stylist.”

“Great, capturing Jess Black alive would be nice.”

“I thought you didn’t have a preference.”

Pratt sighed, and Jacob raised his head, turning it this way and that after having it bent back for so long.

“I don’t, but The Deputy does.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have a feeling she’ll be coming to pay us a visit soon.”

Jacob hadn’t seen The Deputy since that night in the church.

“There a problem?”

“That’s for me to know,” Pratt smiled, his old, colder smile that Jacob didn’t see so often now, but still came out from time to time.

Jacob nodded, silent, and Pratt reached out a hand to touch his cheek.

“This is a big day for you,” he said, voice going soft again, “I’m giving you a chance to prove I can trust you.”

“I won’t disappoint you.”

Pratt smiled, warm, and he dropped his hand, stepping back.

“Wait here, someone will collect you.”

Jacob’s eyes followed him out of the room, then he sat back in his chair to wait. He felt calm, felt good—killing was something he knew how to do, was good at. He kept his mind focused on what Pratt had promised—a meeting with John.

Pratt had told him the night before that Whitehorse had been unwilling to arrange a meeting with Faith, had said something about not needing Pratt fucking up his plans, but Joey had been eager to let the brothers have their little reunion.

“She says John is excited to see you. You know, I was worried about John with Joey, she’s got a bit of a temper, but your brother sounded happy on the phone,” Pratt had said, leaning against the bars of his cage.

“You spoke to him?”

“Yeah, he even flirted a bit. Ballsy, your brother.”

That sounded like John. Not the John from the church, quiet and near catatonic, shaking scared, but the John that had found him in the shelter, smiling beside Joseph. Jacob wanted to see him, had to see him, and if it meant killing every single person at the Lumber Mill, he’d do it.

A pair of female Chosen came to get Jacob an hour after Pratt had left, dressed in red and unsmiling as they freed him. One of them had a bag that she thrust his way.

“Get changed,” she ordered.

Inside the bag was a fresh set of jeans and a shirt, and Jacob recognized them as his own, taken straight from his closet. He stripped down to his underwear and pulled on the jeans, taking the radio one of the women offered out and attaching it to his hip before pulling on the shirt. He laced his boots back up, nodding to the women, who directed him out of the room, following a foot behind.

Jacob descended to the first floor, which was emptier than he’d ever see it, and there he was issued a holster for his hip and a knife sheath for his leg, both empty.

“Catch.”

A blur of green came at his face, and Jacob’s hand flew up to catch his jacket, the familiar fabric soft in his hands, and he laughed.

“Shit, he really did wash it.”

The jacket was still stained, brown, red, and black, but as Jacob pulled the jacket on, J.SEED stitched into his chest, he felt a massive grin split across his face.

“Let’s go get ‘em,” he said to the women, who actually returned his smile, and Jacob was handed his pistol, his knife, and his rifle.

Pratt’s attack plan was simple, but effective. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Two sniper teams, one led by Jacob, another led by a veteran Follower, would take out the Mill’s alarms and as many people as they could before the Whitetails knew what was happening. Two raiding parties would sit in wait, coming in on command. Still two more teams would be a few miles away with Pratt, in case things went south.

Take the Mill, kill the militia, keep Jess Black alive.

Those were Pratt’s orders, and the Followers set off.

Jacob rode shotgun in a pickup truck, his rifle across his lap, two Followers in the back and one driving, and Jacob could hear Pratt over the radio at his hip, calling for a check in from each team.

“Fairmont, en route.”

“Wheeling, en route.”

“Martinsburg, en route.”

“Huntington, en route.”

Jacob unclipped his radio, grinning.

“Morgantown, en route.”

It took only ten minutes to reach the F.A.N.G Center, where Jacob and his team stashed their truck and continued on foot, moving through the trees towards the Mill. Jacob might have been out of practice, but honestly, it was like slipping back into an old skin, moving with his rifle in his hands, men at his back, and the enemy ahead.

It was 1:30pm, and Pratt had called for shooting to begin at 2. Jacob and his men were in position by 1:50, lying in wait on a ridge overlooking the Mill, and Jacob began counting.

Five on the roof, more than eight among the machinery, and at least thirteen on the ground, moving crates, eating in groups, or standing guard, their eyes on the trees and on the road. Jacob moved his scope, looking for the scarred face of Jess Black among the sea of green militia.

He didn’t see her, and he radioed into Pratt.

“Morgantown to Charleston.”

Pratt’s voice answered.

“Go ahead Morgantown.”

“I’m seein’ no signs of your little huntress.”

“Proceed as planned, if she shows up, she shows up.”

“Understood, Morgantown out.”

Jacob lowered the radio, licking his lips before pressing his eye back to the scoop, lining up a shot at one of the alarm boxes.

He heard the other sniper unit check in, the radio cracking in and out of life as the other units did the same before the time struck 2 and Pratt gave the order.

“Take it.”

Jacob shot, seven other guns around the Mill doing the same. Three bodies hit the ground and both alarm boxes exploded. There was a cry of alarm from below as the militia saw friends go down or were showered in a sea of sparks from the boxes, and Jacob shot again, breathing, in and out, heart rate calm, mind focused.

He’d made three shots, one machine, two people, before the militia managed to scramble behind cover, and a line of fire peppered through the trees toward them, catching one of Jacob’s men while the others flattened themselves down.

“Morgantown, Huntington, prepare to advance.”

“Morgantown, preparing to advance,” Jacob knew Pratt would hear the smile in his voice.

There was no other response.

“Huntington, please respond.”

Silence.

“Huntington, respond”

“Hey dipshits.”

It was a new voice, female, fucking smug, and Jacob didn’t need to see her to know who it was it.

“Miss. Black,” Pratt answered her coolly, and Jacob could imagine his face, the cold smile, the murder in his eyes, “I had heard we’d find you here.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like your little piggies listen much. Too busy nuzzling up to their master’s cock to hear a god damn thing.”

“Fairmont and Martinsburg move in. Morgantown, stay put.”

Seconds later, Jacob heard the roar of engines and Jess Black snarled into the radio before it went dead. Jacob signaled to his men and they readied their rifles as two trucks came screeching into the Mill, crashing through its gates.

Jacob took aim as the Whitetails poked heads and hands out to shoot at the oncoming force, and he fired, reloading and firing again. He saw Black emerge from the trees where the Huntington force had been perched, and he fired off a shot, hitting the tree beside her and sending her diving for cover.

“Morgantown, eyes on Black,” he growled into his radio.

“Go get her, Jacob.”

Jacob tossed his rifle aside, reaching for his pistol.

“Goin’ huntin’,” he said to his men as he backed further into the line of trees.

He circled around the Mill to the secondary sniper perch, stepping over bodies and descending down to where he’d seen Black. She’d moved from her cover, and Jacob could see her moving in the Mill, climbing up a ladder to get to a higher vantage against the Followers.

Gun fire was still flying back and forth from both sides, the guns on the pickup trucks hammering a line of holes into the Whitetail defenses. Jacob snuck down, moving behind a shed and choosing each shot carefully, hitting the Whitetails from behind their defenses, withdrawing so as not to be seen.

If he was going to get Black alive, he needed to get her out of the firefight.

He shot a solider that was attempting to climb the same ladder Black had, then he started up it himself, willing the Followers not to fucking shoot at him. They had all heard Pratt’s order, and Jacob liked to think he was relatively recognizable from a distance.

On the upper level, Black and another woman with a sniper rifle were shooting down at the trucks. As he watched, Black loosed an arrow that split through the neck of the Follower arming a machine gun and he toppled from the truck.

Jacob raised his gun, taking a moment to grin and level it at Black, before he shifted it to the other women and shot her between the shoulder blades. She cried out, and Black turned, an arrow notched, but Jacob was already moving. He heard the twine of the bow, felt pain in his shoulder, then he was on her, slamming her down into the metal, and she screamed, roaring at him, kicking and clawing at him as her bow spun away.

She was strong, but small, and Jacob had launched the entirety of his body weight at her, knocking her to the ground and trying to pin her arms down while she thrashed. Her arrow had buried itself in his shoulder, but as Jacob hit the ground, part of it broke off, pushing the head further in.

A Whitetail came clanging up the stairs, shouting, and Jacob had to spare his right arm to shoot at them, giving Black an opportunity to plant a foot into his groin, and Jacob groaned, slamming his head down against hers, knocking her back against the metal.

“Get the fuck off me!” there was a wild look in her eye as she kicked out again, shaking her head to clear it, her hair falling across her face.

Jacob felt no shame, no guilt, no anger, just _Pratt_ as he twisted her wrist, feeling the bones break under his fingers and she screamed out again.

“You’re Strong,” he told her, letting go of the broken wrist and pressing his hand down into her throat, his body weight pressed down on her middle, keeping her legs in check, his pistol raised, “but not Strong enough.”

He slammed the butt of his pistol down against her temple, watching her eyes roll up into her head, and she went limp under him, unconscious. He rose up off of her, then reached down to haul her over his uninjured shoulder. He took the stairs on the way down, pistol up, shooting down the Whitetail that tried to stop him.

“Jess Black secure,” he reported in, moving back to the shed he’d hid behind, dumping Black onto the ground and hunkering down, pistol ready.

“All units, advance, take them down.”

The Followers at the gates roared, pressing forward, and there was the sound of more trucks as Pratt’s reinforcements approached, coming to put the last nail in the Mill’s coffin.

Jacob took a few shots from his shed, one eye on Black, but the Whitetails were basically fish in a barrel, outnumbered and trapped and one by one, they went down until silence fell over the Mill.

“Ain’t that life?” he said to Black, patting her leg before he hefted her over his shoulder again. Blood stained his freshly washed jacket, leaking out of the wound in his shoulder, but Jacob ignored it.

He carried Black through the Mill, Followers fliting past him, moving quickly to check the Mill for dangers. Jacob left Black with one of the Chosen, the one who had returned his jacket, and the other pointed him toward the building in the back of the Mill, where Pratt had headed.

Jacob holstered his pistol and moved toward the building, stepping over bodies and through puddles of blood.

Pratt was waiting in the back room of the building, a room full of maps and notes, and he was smiling, not a spot of blood on him.

“We’re closer,” he said as Jacob entered, turning to face him “We’re so much closer, well done Jacob.”

“How many of ours dead?”

“Only eight.”

Pratt stepped forward, tsking when he saw the blood and mud covering Jacob’s front, “I let you out for an hour and you’re filthy.”

Jacob grinned, “Hazard of the job.”

“You hurt?”

“Arrow in the shoulder, it’ll be fine.”

“Jess Black?”

“Injured, but alive, as per request.”

Pratt grinned, his eyes shining, and Jacob could feel his approval working like the sun, soaking Jacob in warm, his chest puffing with pride and satisfaction.

“I think I’d like to tip my retriever.”

Jacob knew what he wanted, and his eyes dropped, of their own accord, to Pratt’s lips.

Pratt’s smile dropped, and he reflexively stepped back from Jacob as if he’d just realized they were alone and Jacob’s arms were free. Jacob made no move to follow him however, as much as wanted to, and fuck he wanted to, he stayed where he was, arms at his side, watching Pratt.

“You could ask for something else,” Pratt eyed him, eyes narrow.

Jacob shrugged.

“I have your dog tags.”

There was a pull on Jacob’s heart, but he just shrugged again.

“I have your little rabbit’s foot. I could give you that back,” a strange look entered into Pratt’s eyes, replacing the wariness—it was still cautious, but it had a bit of amazement in it, like when Jacob had kissed him instead of killing him.

Jacob shrugged for a third time.

“You could really ask for anything else, Jacob.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

Pratt was silent, searching his face, and Jacob didn’t know how to show he meant it, to show him the truth, so he just stayed still, arms at his side.

“…put your hands behind your back.”

Jacob did so.

“Interlock your fingers.”

Jacob obeyed, smiling a little bit, wondering how many times Pratt had given these orders when he’d been a proper deputy.

“Don’t-” Pratt was still frowning, but he took a step back towards Jacob, “Don’t touch me, okay? Keep them there, behave.”

Jacob nodded, his fingers gripping together tighter.

Pratt took another step, stopping in front of Jacob and reaching up to touch his cheek, a touch he’d given at least a thousand times, and Jacob turned his head. He repeated his movements from the cabin, kissing his fingers, his palm, his pulse.

Pratt shuddered like he had before, and when Jacob looked back at him, he was still hesitating.

Jacob felt an ache of tenderness go through him.

“You don’t have to,” Jacob said, softly, “This is enough.”

He wanted more, but he’d take what Pratt would give, would offer.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Pratt whispered, his hand sliding down to Jacob’s throat, moving to cup the back of his neck, and Jacob didn’t know if the words were meant for him, or if Pratt was trying to reassure himself.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You _can’t_ hurt me.”

Pratt didn’t sound quite convinced of himself, but he pressed up, pulling Jacob down to meet him as he pressed their lips together.

_Sweet_…

Jacob closed his eyes, feeling Pratt’s grip tighten on his neck, and he felt a trail of warmth spread, lazily, from his lips down to his chest, blossoming in his lungs as he breathed Pratt in, sighing quietly against Pratt’s mouth.

Pratt was tense, and Jacob wished he knew how to calm him, wished he could touch him, but he kept an iron grip on his fingers as he leaned forward, prolonging the kiss, thirty for it, moaning quietly as Pratt pulled back, licking his lips.

Jacob’s heart was beating faster than it had when he’d sniped down the Whitetails, when he’d slammed Black down, and he wanted it again.

“Pratt,” he murmured, his fingers loosening.

“Shh,” Pratt hushed him and he pressed back against Jacob, kissing him until Jacob felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. His hands moved, but he curled them into fists, knocking his knuckles together as he turned his head, deepening the kiss, tasting Pratt, Pratt, _Pratt._

Pratt’s free hand rose to clutch at Jacob’s shoulder, pulling him closer, and the blood from Jacob’s jacket began to soak into his uniform, leaving them both red. Pratt was smaller than Jacob, but his body was solid, strong, and Jacob pressed himself forward, feeling his cock stir as Pratt moaned.

Pratt kissed him until they were both breathless, using his grip on Jacob’s shoulder to push him back, breaking them apart. His face was flushed, his lips red, and Jacob took a mental picture, savoring it.

“Thank you,” he remembered his manners, and Pratt smiled, a bit sheepish.

“Good job. Wait for me here. I’ll send a medic to look at your shoulder.”

His hands fell away from Jacob, who instantly missed them, and he brushed past him, heading out of the room without a backwards glance.

Jacob was left alone, unbound, his pistol still at his side. His hands dropped to his sides and he flexed his fingers. Pratt had left the door open, and the room had a window that faced out to the woods.

The back of his neck burned.

Pratt had guaranteed him a visit with John.

_But Joseph is still out there_.

Jacob stepped towards the window, quietly opening it and glancing around. Pratt’s men were mostly gathered near the front of the Mill, where the Resistance had put up most of a fight. Here, at the back, there was no one in sight.

Jacob was sure that if he got just enough of a head start, they wouldn’t find him, he’d be out, free to search for Joseph.

_Then what?_

Free John and Faith.

_Then what?_

Get out of Hope County

_Then what?_

Live for them, like he had since he came home, since John and Joseph had found him.

_Or you could stay with Pratt, who gives you Purpose, who makes you feel warm. _

_You could be his._

_Pratt’s._

Jacob stepped back and closed the window.

The time wasn’t right. He would see John, would see if he could get Pratt to arrange a meeting with Faith, then he would decide.

_Stay, stay, stay._

He sighed, and, like a good dog, he pulled up a metal chair, and he sat down to wait for Pratt to come back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little extra warning in this chapter for dubious consent near the end—nothing too bad, Jacob is just not fully in control of himself at the time.

In the weeks after the raid, Jacob tasted the sweet freedom of being allowed to properly exercise. He hadn’t seen nor heard about Jess Black since she’d been brought backed to the Center, awake and thrashing in the back of a pickup, Pratt’s guards personally stepping up to drag her into the building when they arrived, but he’d spared her little thought as Pratt, once Jacob’s shoulder was mostly healed up, started to allow him out of his cage every morning to, unbound, join the Chosen in their training.

“Don’t want me in with the new recruits? Promise I’ll only hurt a few of them,” Jacob had given Pratt a shit eating grin and been rewarded with a loud laugh.

Jacob had never been so happy to be sore as in those first few days as he woke up his receding muscles and put them to work. The Chosen were his kind of people, Strong and quiet. Jacob had come in expecting to have to shove a few Alpha types into the fucking dirt to get some peace, but he should have known that Pratt had killed that shit on entry. The Chosen were effective, respective, and above all, obedient to Pratt.

It didn’t matter that every single one of them could kill Pratt a hundred different ways, when he spoke, they listened, and when he was angry, they were nearly tripping over themselves to make him happy. It might have been funny, grown men and women following little Staci Pratt’s orders, if Jacob hadn’t been there right along with them, in tuned to Pratt’s moods, thriving under his praise and looking to please, his chest puffing whenever Pratt paid him special attention, as he so often did.

Sometimes, if Jacob was really, _really _good, better than all the other boys and girls, Pratt would pull him aside and Jacob would lock his hands behind his back, dirty and smelling of gunpowder, and Pratt would kiss him.

Sometimes it was quick, just a press of lips, a taste of sweetness in Jacob’s mouth, and other times Pratt kissed him like he had at the Mill, hesitant at first, but breathing hard by the end as he kept pulling Jacob in for more, fingers twisted into Jacob’s jacket. Jacob liked those times best, even if it left his cock hard and his heart aching.

It was three weeks after the Mill that Jacob was woken in the morning, but brought no food. As the sun rose higher in the sky, he could hear the sounds of the Chosen training and the rest of the Center working, but still no one came. He waited, calm but alert, for Pratt, who didn’t appear until it was nearly evening.

His hair was still wet from a shower and for the first time since Jacob had ever met him, Pratt was wearing something other than his Deputy’s uniform. The boots were the same, Department issued, but the jeans were black, and his forest green jacket had been replaced by a black v-neck and a light brown coat, just heavy enough to keep out the autumn chill.

“Special occasion?” Jacob eyed him, appreciating the bit of skin the shirt exposed.

“We’re going to the Valley.”

Jacob’s heart jolted and he shoved himself up, brushing the dirt from his jeans.

_John._

Pratt unlocked the cage and pulled it open, his guards waiting beyond the bars. Jacob eyed them, but they didn’t move to restrict him as Pratt led the way towards the front of the Center where a car waited.

Pratt moved to the driver’s seat, and Jacob didn’t even look at the guards before he took shotgun, grinning as he heard the men behind him grumble a bit.

Pratt reached up to adjust the rear view mirror, his guards settling into the back seat, and Jacob felt a set of knees knock up against his seat and heard more grumbling. The car purred to life beneath them.

“Well?”

Jacob looked at Pratt as he drove out of the gates

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me how good I look?”

Jacob blinked, his eyes running over Pratt again, his lips curling up into a smile.

“You look real good, Pratt.”

“Thanks, I try.”

The guards in the back snorted in unison, and Pratt had to bite back a laugh of his own, accelerating as they left dirt and hit asphalt. Not much had changed since Jacob had visited his cabin, the Followers still waving from roadblocks as Pratt went by and nothing but animals impeding their path. It was a quiet, comfortable drive, Jacob eventually taking pity on the guard behind him and moving his seat up a bit, and the radio was on low, Pratt’s fingers drumming along to a pop song.

He radioed into the Valley about a mile away from the bridge.

“Charleston moving into the Valley.”

He waited until he got a response before driving over the bridge and entering into Hudson’s territory. Jacob had always preferred the mountains, but the Valley had its own charm, and Jacob watched out the window as they drove. Everything seemed quiet, the Followers roadblocks well maned and keeping the streets clear, and they were even more excited to see Pratt than the Followers in the Whitetails, grinning as he drove through.

“You’re awfully popular,” Jacob glanced at Pratt.

“Must be the coat,” one of the guards said from the back, and Pratt rolled his eyes, pumping the breaks to jerk them in the back seat before speeding up.

“Where abouts are we going?” Jacob asked as they drove further south, moving past the Lamb of God Church.

“Seed Ranch,” Pratt replied, and Jacob raised his eyebrows.

“John’s at his house?”

“Yeah, Joey too, it’s an awfully nice place for the brother of a preacher.”

“Joseph’s lessons didn’t always reach John.”

“Oh yes,” Pratt grinned slightly, “I know.”

That answer didn’t sit so well with Jacob as they continued to the south, turning down the familiar road to the Seed Ranch, the air field coming into view before it was hidden again by trees and rocks.

The Ranch had been taken about two weeks before the church. After months of red flags and Jacob telling Joseph the police were fucking up to something, they had pulled some public domain bullshit on John and took the land right out from under him. He’d been physical escorted off the land by Hudson and the Sheriff, threatening them with every law suit imaginable, but The Deputy had struck the church before John had been able to cause any legal trouble.

Months later, the Ranch was still as grand as ever, but there were a lot more people and a lot more planes on the property. As Pratt pulled up to the house, throwing the car into park, Jacob could see Followers poking their heads out of windows, excitement lighting up their faces.

“God damn celebrity, huh?” Jacob felt discomfort stir in his stomach, “I was hoping this would be a private meeting.”

“I will be, just some formalities first,” Pratt unbuckled his seatbelt and waited for his guards to exit first, “After all, I trained these people.”

One of the guards opened Pratt’s door and he stepped out, the car already being slowly surrounded by Followers. Jacob elected to stay in the car, watching Pratt’s mouth move as he spoke to the Followers before he cast an eye around again, looking for John this time, but there was no sign of him or Hudson.

He watched and waited until a sharp tap on the driver side window brought his eyes back to Pratt, who gestured for him to get out. Jacob obeyed, the discomfort growing in his stomach as he stepped out and eyes were instantly drawn to him.

He knew most of these people, either from Before or during their training at the Center. He was used to being stared at, and he watched their eyes drop from his scarred face to his unbound hands.

The crowd stepped back as Pratt made to move through them, giving him the bubble of space he always maintained, his guards trailing behind as he reached out to pat Jacob’s shoulder, a signal to follow him as he headed towards the main door of the house.

It was warm inside, John’s expensive heaters already working to keep the chill out, and Jacob could smell food, the smell of meat wafting through the air and making his empty stomach rumble. Stepping into the Ranch was like stepping into the past, and his eyes moved from the expensive leather seats, to the animal heads sticking out of the wall, to the portrait of Jacob and his siblings hanging over the fireplace. The Ranch had always put a strain on John’s and Joseph’s relationship, but Jacob had liked the Ranch, even if it wasn’t really his style.

“Joey!” Pratt called out, pulling off his coat.

“In here! Come on, we’ve been waiting!”

Deputy Hudson’s voice came from the direction of John’s dining room, loud and annoyed, and Pratt signaled for his guards to wait in the living room before he advanced alone with Jacob to the dining room.

The first thing Jacob saw was the food. It had been weeks since he’d been starved, but fuck, he hadn’t seen this much food in months, not since John’s birthday back in August, and his mouth was watering. It was mostly meat, ranging from venison to fish to rabbit, with the occasional vegetable or carb thrown in for color. It was Jacob’s kind of meal.

The second thing he saw was his brother, sitting on the other side of the table, absolutely fucking beaming at him.

“Jacob!” that perfect John smile was stretched across his face as he stood up, moving to round the table.

Jacob remembered the way John had screamed his name as he was dragged out of the church, Hudson not even looking back as she separated them, and he was breathless as John reached him, throwing arms around Jacob, like they were two brothers just reuniting after a long vacation, not two prisoners who had been violently ripped apart being given the rare privilege of leaving their cages. Then again, Jacob had no idea what John’s experience had been thus far.

All he knew was that his brother was here, alive, hugging him, and he raised his arms to wrap them around John, crushing him to him, feeling the breath whoosh out of him. John laughed, breathless, and their hold on each other was tight as emotions of relief flowed between them. Hearing your little brother was okay and seeing it for yourself were two entirely different things, and Jacob was so fucking grateful for Pratt.

He let go of John, letting his little brother breathe, and he held him at arm’s length, looking him over, searching for signs of damage. John had looked better, he’d lost muscle and there were three parallel scars cut into his cheek that made Jacob’s blood boil, but he didn’t look all that bad. He was wearing his own clothes, flashy and expensive, and there was color in his cheeks, a gleam in his eyes.

“You look good,” Jacob said and he meant it.

“Took some time, but found my footing,” the smile John gave him now was strange, like his old, “charm the pants off anyone” smile, but slightly off, and up close Jacob could see he had some gold teeth where there had once been pearly whites and there was an edge to the look, a ghost of something behind John’s eyes.

There was movement behind John and Jacob’s eyes moved to the other person sitting at the table. Joey Hudson had stood from her seat at the head, looking like she was trying to keep a stern look, but her smile kept cracking through.

“’Bout time, Stac, you’re late!”

Pratt’s arm brushed Jacob’s as he stepped around the brothers, and Jacob watched as he didn’t even hesitate to allow Joey to pull him into a tight hug.

“Traffic, you know how it is. Should have taken the cruiser.”

Hudson snorted, her fist coming down on Pratt’s back a little harder than it had to. It was strange, seeing someone touch Pratt, and if Jacob thought about it, the only other time he’d seen Pratt allow someone else to initiate contact had been in the church, first with Hudson, then with The Deputy.

_What about Whitehorse_?

That was a question for a different day as John’s voice brought his attention back forward.

“Are you well?”

Jacob looked into his brother’s eyes, identical to his, and he nodded.

He was well, and in some ways, he was better than he’d been in a very long time.

“You?”

John nodded, his smile stretching wider, “Oh yes, I’m well. I have so much to tell you.”

Jacob found himself being seated at the table across from John’s chair while Pratt dragged the other head seat across the room, letting it scrap loudly against the wood until he could sit next to Joey, who scowled.

“Where’s the drama in sitting like this?”

“Shut up, Joe, I just want to be closer to your beautiful face.”

She snorted, but was by no means unhappy having Pratt so close, the two filling their plates with food before bending their heads together like John and Jacob weren’t even in the room.

“You want a drink?” John asked, eyes bright, “I have that whisky you gave me back in August.”

“Yeah.”

Jacob hadn’t had a drink in months.

He watched John move across the room to retrieve a few bottles from a waiting cabinet, eyes scanning his body, watching for any signs of discomfort, any hidden injuries, but John seemed fine, setting the bottle of whisky down on front of Jacob along with a glass.

“Help yourself,” he grinned and Jacob did, pouring a glass of whiskey out while John opened a bottle of wine.

“Ma’am, would you like some?” John asked Hudson, who didn’t even look up from Pratt as she shook her head. John didn’t offer any to Pratt, just poured a single glass, clinking it against Jacob’s before he leaned forward across the table.

“Where to even start?”

John elected to start at the beginning, telling Jacob how he’d woken up in Hudson’s bunker, in a cell barely big enough to house a bed and a toilet, and he’d stayed there, alone, three meal a day delivered through a slot, for a month. No word from anybody, no one to talk to, just him and the occasional glimpse of another human’s hand when a tray of food was slotted into his cell. As he spoke, Jacob began to see the cracks, the edge of madness in John’s eyes, the frozen set of his face, his smile never dulling even as he told Jacob of the loneliness, the filth, the way he’d thought about Joseph, Faith, and Jacob every day.

Jacob drank as he listened, the smell of the food souring as he listened to John talk about his imprisonment with a smile on his face, like he wasn’t describing torture, then John began to talk about what came after the day his cell opened. Hudson had had him dragged out, had the first line carved into his cheek, and he had been sent to supervise a new set of recruits, fresh from the Center.

“Just like that?” Jacob blinked, stunned at the turn.

“Just like that, me, in charge,” John snapped his fingers, almost giggling as he looked at Jacob, “And I’m good at it Jacob, _so_ good at it.”

John was a natural leader of men. Jacob knew that, Joseph knew that, and so, apparently, did Hudson. As John continued, Jacob had to hand it to Hudson for figuring out John so fucking fast. John needed to please, needed to be loved by those around him, and she’d starved him of that before putting him at the center of attention, giving him power over others, a chance to win affection and love and to preform a task to his highest capability.

As Jacob drained his third glass of whiskey he stared at John, bright eyed and regaling him with the story of how he’d taken the Scrapyard from the Resistance, how he’d organized troops and bent the laws, keeping away any federal attention. He had power, power he’d never had with Joseph, that Jacob knew Joseph never would have trusted him with.

_He’s thriving, he loves it here._

The gleam of madness never seemed to leave John’s eyes as he talked, and Jacob was beginning to wonder if it’d always been there and he’d just missed it, too focused on Joseph and his flock, but whichever the case, John spoke nothing but praise for Hudson, who had given him the second and third scar on his cheek as he advanced up the ranks, and he said nothing more of Joseph, nothing of Faith.

When Jacob asked him about the missing teeth, John waved it off as a “small incident, nothing I couldn’t handle,” and the whiskey was more than two thirds gone and his food barely touched when Jacob asked him about Faith and Joseph. John seemed to come back to himself for a moment.

“Faith seems fine from what I’ve heard.”

“And Joseph?”

“I don’t know.”

John frowned, looking down at his plate, but then seemed to snap himself out of it, tapping his fingers against the table, _one, two, three_, then looking back up at Jacob, smiling again.

“But I’ve done all the talking here, Jake, what about you? What happened after the church?”

What about him?

Jacob looked over at Pratt, and as he moved his head, he realized that he didn’t have quite as much control over the movement as would have liked, the muscles in his neck moving like rubber. He swung his head back, looking at the almost empty bottle of whisky and his plate full of food and oh, stupid, stupid Jacob.

“’m all right, Pratt took me to the Mountains,” his mouth moved, he spoke the words, but felt not quite attached to them, like his brain was slowly separating itself from his other muscles.

Stupid, stupid Jacob.

“What happened to you when you got there?”

Jacob looked at Pratt again, and Pratt met his eyes this time, pulled out of his conversation with Joey when he heard John’s question. Jacob felt warm under his gaze, the whiskey a heat in his stomach, and he couldn’t seem to quite remember what Pratt had done to him, could only think of his cabin, of the sunlight, of Pratt sitting on his couch, Pratt’s lips sweet against his.

“Jacob?”

Jacob looked back at John and shrugged, “Got knocked ‘round a bit, nothin’ I couldn’t take. Now ‘m here.”

John looked at Pratt, but he had turned back to Joey.

“And Pratt?” John looked from Pratt to Jacob and leaned closer to him across the table, blue meeting blue

_He’s become my everything. The family and him, that’s all that matters._

Jacob shrugged.

“He’s not so bad.”

John frowned, and Jacob could tell he wanted more, but Jacob didn’t want to talk about the Center, didn’t want to talk about Pratt, so he asked John about the Ranch and what he was up to now. It didn’t take much for the shine to return to John’s eyes and for him to begin a story about taking control of the Gardenview Packing Facility.

Jacob let his brother’s voice wash over him, glad to know he was alive and safe, even if he was a bit fucked up. Jacob was a bit fucked up too. And he began to finally actually put some food into his stomach as the sky grew dark, the sun dipping below the horizon.

The bottle of whisky was empty by the time Pratt cleared his throat and stood up, interrupting John’s story about revamping Nick Rye’s piece of shit old plane.

“We should get going,” he jerked his head at Jacob, who reflexively stood up, instantly realizing just how very drunk he was as he became fully vertical.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, grabbing onto the back of his chair. God, he had to piss.

“I thought you were staying the night?” Hudson was leaning back in her chair, patting her stomach, her plate covered in animal bones.

“I was, but I think Jacob here might throw up if he doesn’t get some air. A drive will do him some good,” Pratt watched Jacob with a grin.

“’m fine,” Jacob said, even as he took an unsteady step towards the hall, “Goin’ to the bathroom.”

He used the wall to guide himself, as familiar with John’s house as he was with his own, and he relieved himself in the half-bath attached to the living room, Pratt’s guards eying him as he passed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jacob mumbled to himself as pissed, and he stopped to splash water onto his face after washing his hands. That only successfully made his face wet, doing nothing for his loose limps and loose mind. He wiped the water off, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Stupid,” he said to the ginger giant looking back at him, then headed back out into the living room where John, Pratt, and Hudson were waiting. Pratt was pulling his coat back on and Jacob’s eyes dropped to a small sliver of skin that was exposed as Pratt lifted his arms. His fingers twitched, and he pressed his nails into his palms.

_Keep it the fuck together._

“Thanks Joe,” Pratt pulled Joey into another hug, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

John stepped forward and Jacob wrapped his arms around him.

“’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered to his brother, and he felt John’s cheek press against his chest.

“I love you, Jake.”

Jacob pressed his lips to his brother’s head, and he squeezed him tight.

“I love you too.”

He felt emotions beginning to shift in his chest, feeling warmth prick behind his eyes, and he had to let go of John before he did anything stupid like cry in front of two Enforcers.

Pratt led the way outside, fresh air hitting Jacob like a smack in the face, but the whiskey kept him warm on the way to the car, and he reclaimed his passenger seat. He watched, head lulled back against the headrest, as Hudson and Pratt exchanged final words outside, sharing another hug before Pratt opened the driver side door and slid in. His guards settled into the backseat and soon they were moving.

Jacob watched Pratt as they drove through the dark, and Pratt looked soft in the night, his face only illuminated by the dashboard and a rare street light.

“Pratt,” he mumbled and Pratt looked at him.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, for lettin’ me see my brother.”

Pratt smiled at him, then looked at the road, “No problem.”

“John is the youngest, I always worry `bout him, I remember when Joseph and him found me, he was…”

Jacob didn’t think about the guards in the back, just thought of Pratt and let his tongue loosen, telling him about the homeless shelter, the nightmares, how his brothers had found him, how he had had nothing and no one without them. Pratt had silently listened, eyes on the road, until Jacob had quieted, closing his eyes.

It seemed like all he’d done was blink and he felt hands on him, manhandling him, and cold air hit him, people grunting underneath him, and he was jostled this way and that before being dropped down in a whoosh, expecting to hit hard ground, but hitting cushy softness instead.

He sighed, letting his body relax down into the plushness, and he inhaled deeply, smelling _Pratt, Pratt, Pratt._

He forced himself to open his eyes, sluggish.

He was on a bed, fuck he hadn’t been on a bed in months, inside a bedroom. The room was small, but it wasn’t crowded like the rooms Jacob had seen on the first floor of the Center, which were beds on top of beds.

In the moments it took him to connect the dots—_it’s Pratt’s room_— the door opened, and Pratt stepped in, closing it and locking it behind him.

“Hey,” Jacob said from the bed, and Pratt almost instantly busted up.

“Shit,” he covered his mouth to stop the laughter, and Jacob grinned, knowing he looked fucking goofy, but it just made Pratt crack up even more, making it well worth it.

“Wha’ happened?”

“You passed out on me in the car.”

“’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. If I had known you would be drinking, I would have fed you more.”

Jacob grunted—shit, the bed felt like a cloud under him, every shift of his limbs felt better than the last as he moved on the bed, turning over onto his back.

The light was on, but it was dimmed down, making it bearable.

He listened, distantly, as Pratt moved around the room, listening to the sound of running water and then Pratt talking quietly into a radio, giving the final orders of the night. Jacob let his voice lull him, and he was on the edge of sleep again, drifting, when he heard quiet footsteps and felt fingers touch him.

Pratt took one of Jacob’s wrists, pulling it gently and raised it up to the headboard, snapping a cuff around it, but before he could attach the other end to the headboard, Jacob’s other hand moved, instinctively, to stop him, taking hold of Pratt’s arm.

Pratt tensed, turning to stone under Jacob’s touch, but didn’t instantly jerk away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jacob mumbled.

Pratt didn’t respond.

“Handcuff me, I mean.”

His thumb moved, stroking against Pratt’s arm, like Pratt so often did along Jacob’s cheek.

“I won’t hurt you, I could never hurt you.”

Pratt was still silent, but he shivered as Jacob’s fingers moved, drawing down his arm to circle around his wrist.

“I’m yours, aren’t I, Pratt?” Jacob’s own voice sounded far away, like someone else was speaking his thoughts—all he could feel was Pratt, all he could smell was Pratt, and his heart hurt, like there was a fist curled around it.

“Please,” he whispered, and he tried to pull, tried to bring Pratt closer to him. Pratt hesitated, resisting, but as Jacob whispered his plea again, he leaned down over Jacob, and Jacob could see into Pratt’s eyes.

“Tell me I’m yours,” he whispered, seeing the apprehension mixing with awe in Pratt’s eyes as he begged, “Please, tell me I’m yours, Pratt.”

He pressed Pratt’s hand to his face, turned into it, wishing he could bury himself in Pratt, could forget the madness he’d seen in John, could forget all the people he’d ever killed, could forget Miller and all the nightmares he’d ever had. If Pratt had him, none of it would matter. He’d do more of it, kill as many as it took, if it meant Pratt would keep him.

“Jacob…”

Pratt’s voice shook, and Jacob had no control as tears filled his eyes, spilling down his cheeks, dripping onto Pratt’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, uncurling his fingers from Pratt’s wrist “I’ll do better, Pratt. I can _be_ better for you, only you.”

“You want to be mine, Jacob?”

“_Yes_.”

He wanted it more than air.

“Will you prove it to me?”

“_Yes, yes, yes_. _Anything, anything at all.”_

Pratt leaned down, brushing his lips gently to Jacob’s, the breath of a kiss, and Jacob’s heart felt like it might burst.

“I want Eli, Jacob.”

_Yours, Yours, Yours._

“I want him dead.”

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

“Will you do that for me?”

“Yes,” Jacob felt high, breathless, lighter than air, and he whispered it over and over again, “Yes, anything, anything for you Pratt, yes,” until Pratt leaned back down, kissing him, pressing him down into the mattress, and Jacob felt the mattress dip as Pratt pressed a knee into it, swinging his other leg over Jacob and settling his weight down on top of him.

Jacob’s hands moved to mold themselves to his waist, but a whispered “no” against his lips had him dropping them back down to the mattress, obedient.

Pratt kissed him until they were both breathing hard, drawing back, their breath mingling, before he moved to press his lips to Jacob’s cheeks, his forehead, his throat. His hands moved, pushing Jacob’s jacket back, trailing fingers down his chest.

“Fuck, is there some where I can touch you?” Jacob’s cock was getting hard, fighting the hold of the whisky, and he wanted so badly to feel Pratt, to give something in return “Something you’d like?”

Pratt shook his head and pushed at Jacob’s chest, sitting up, and Jacob groaned as his ass pressed down against his cock. Pratt paused, reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes, then he gave his hips an experimental rock, grinding his ass down, and Jacob had to reach up to grasp the bars of the headboard to stop himself from gripping Pratt’s hips.

“That feel good?” Pratt asked as he rocked back and forth, leaning back to press a hand to Jacob’s thigh, balancing himself.

“Yeah,” Jacob felt breathless, his head swimming with Pratt.

Pratt moved faster, grinding down against his dick, creating just the fucking perfect amount of friction. It was dry, and it would hurt tomorrow, but for now Jacob could only moan.

It had been so long, and he could already feel heat coiling in his stomach.

“’m close,” he gasped, his fingers tightening around the bars, “Fuck, feels s`good, Pratt.”

One of Pratt’s hand pressed against his cheek and the other pressed over Jacob’s heart, adding to the pressure in his chest and he was so, so grateful.

The pleasure built, and his mouth moved, but no words came out, not a single fucking thought in his mind as his vision went white and he felt jolts go through him, rocking him to his core as he came in his pants, warm and sticky.

Pratt worked him through it, watching Jacob’s face, slowing his hips as Jacob’s groans quieted and his body relaxed beneath Pratt’s.

“Pratt,” he whispered, eyes closed, his head lolling to the side, exhausted, “Pratt…”

Pratt leaned forward, hand pressing against Jacob’s chest, and he pressed down to kiss Jacob again, mouth lazily against Jacob’s lips.

Jacob felt something hard press against his stomach, but even as he opened his eyes, Pratt’s weight was shifting, up and off him.

“Wait,” he murmured, searching for him in the dim light, and he heard Pratt laugh, quietly, still close.

“Sleep, Jacob,” he felt a kiss against his forehead, then heard the quiet click of a handcuff. He tugged at his arm, frowning, and Pratt laughed again.

“Sleep, I won’t be far.”

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

Jacob let his eyes close again and let the softness of the bed take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all have been asking about John and I hope this chapter satisfied the John cravings!


	9. Chapter 9

Jacob was woken by a gun shot. His head was pounding, and as he tried to bolt up, the cuff around his wrist snapped him back down, cutting into his wrist. His vision was swimming, his brain not quite awake, but he could hear a commotion outside, people running and yelling, and more gun shots split the air.

Jacob was alone in the room, Pratt nowhere to be seen.

“Damnit,” he murmured, tongue like cotton, pulling at the cuff, then louder, “Damnit!!” and he wrenched at the handcuffs, cursing. The metal of the headboard whined in protest as the cuffs clanged against it, but both the board and the cuffs held fast as he blinked the fuzz from his eyes.

There was more yelling, more gunfire from outside, and then Jacob felt the whole building shake as there was an explosion.

Jacob looked wildly around, thinking _Pratt, Pratt, Pratt_ as he reached for the bedside table, yanking open the drawer and rifling through for anything he could use to pick the lock.

Bless Pratt and his long hair.

Jacob pulled out a bobby pin and stuck it into the cuff’s lock, breathing, trying to calm himself so he could actually fucking concentrate. It took an agonizing minute to get the lock to click, precious time in an attack, and as soon as Jacob was free, he launched himself off the bed and out the door.

He was on the third floor of the Center, not far from the Projector Room, and he moved quickly towards the stairs. The third floor looked untouched, but as he moved down to the second, he encountered his first dead body, a Follower, lying on the floor in front of a window shattered by bullet holes, staring lifelessly up at Jacob, a sniper rifle on the ground beside him.

He reached down to retrieve the rifle and he heard more glass breaking, more Followers yelling, gunshot after gunshot echoing around in his head.

_Where is Pratt?_

If he was where he’d normally be in the mornings, he’d be outside, among the cages.

“Fuck.”

It took every ounce of effort to keep himself still, to stop himself from bolting down the stairs and out into the open.

He was a marksman, this is where he’d be useful.

He kicked the body of the Follower to the side, and knelt by the window, glass crunching under his boots. He raised the rifle and looked through the scoop down into the yard below.

The Whitetail militia had come to pay Pratt a visit.

Jacob drew in a breath and began to fire, taking out one green clad solider after another, barely pausing to see a target go down before he focused on another. 

It was a pitiful force, a handful of soldiers that only had the element of surprise in their favor, attacking the home base of one of the Enforcers, no doubt some last ditch effort to saving Jess Black.

_We were supposed to spend the night in the Valley. Pratt wasn’t supposed to be here, _Jacob thought as he reached for the dead man’s spare ammunition-- _they came by expecting to catch him not at home and to have a chance at getting Black back._

_There’s a snake in the garden._

It was a stupid plan, but ballsy, and already the militia was retreating, striking their blow and getting out before they could all be gunned down. Jacob took shots at the retreating men and women, watching them fall until they were too far into the forest for Jacob to see.

They hadn’t expected a marksman like Jacob to be there either.

An eerie silence fell over the Center as the sound of gunshots died down. It had been a ten minute blitz, a guerilla tactic, and Jacob lowered his gun, his eyes combing the field for a Deputy’s uniform as the Followers began to move forward, coming out from the Center’s defenses.

Jacob saw no sign of Pratt, and he pushed away from the window, carrying the rifle downstairs. The first floor and outside had seen the worst of the action. Almost every window was shattered, and there were a few bodies of the floor, all Followers. The militia had never made it in, and Jacob counted the dead Followers as he moved.

Four bodies so far, including the one upstairs.

Outside, the first thing he saw was the smoking wreckage of a car, two smoking, green corpses lying on the ground beside it and a third body, a Follower, lying nearby. It was clearly the source of the explosion Jacob had heard, although from a distance, Jacob didn’t know if the Followers had exploded the car, or if it was a kamikaze effort by the Resistance that just hadn’t quite reached its target.

Beyond the car, the bodies that Jacob saw were mostly green, although some weren’t. Among them were the soldiers he’d personally shot, holes in their heads.

Seven dead Followers.

Still no Pratt.

Jacob moved toward the left side of the Center, towards the cages, where a large group of Followers was beginning to form. As Jacob approached, he could hear his voice, could hear his sweet, sweet voice, shouting orders, and the Followers moved, splitting off one by one as they were directed.

Pratt stood in the middle of them, eyes blazing with fury, a knife, bloodied to the hilt, in one hand, and the other moving through the air, commanding his Followers.

If Jacob couldn’t hear his voice, couldn’t see that Pratt was on his feet and okay, his heart would have stopped at the pure amount of blood that covered Pratt. His Deputy’s jacket was soaked in it, turning it from a forest green to a reddish, muddy brown, and there was red splattered all around his face and in his hair.

He looked like a fucking leader, and Jacob felt his heart unclench, felt himself relax as Pratt’s eyes landed on him.

“’Bout fucking time, where have you been?”

“Cuffed to a bed.”

“Swell. It’s your lucky day, Jacob, you’re getting a promotion.”

Pratt’s voice almost shook with anger, and it was then that Jacob saw the body that lay behind Pratt, face up in a pool of blood. It was one of Pratt’s guards, the one that had liked to tackle Jacob every chance he got. His eyes were closed, and Jacob could see a bullet hole in his chest.

Beyond his body was the bodies of four Resistance members, one of which Jacob could see had had their throat sliced open, ear to ear, by a blade.

“Orders?” Jacob looked back at Pratt, who gave him a smile that could kill.

“With me, we’re checkin’ bodies.”

Pratt gave out orders to the last of the Followers, then strode towards the front of the Center, Jacob falling in behind him.

“Nine dead,” Pratt growled over his shoulder, “Although it will be more when I find out who told the Resistance I wouldn’t be here today.”

They passed the smoking wreckage of the car and Pratt stopped for a moment to look down at the dead, burned Follower. Even up close he wouldn’t have been recognizable if Jacob didn’t already know who he was.

Pratt’s other guard.

“He stopped the truck?” Jacob looked at Pratt, whose fire was showing no signs of dying.

“Yeah, he stopped the fucking truck.”

Pratt moved on, spitting on the body of the charred militia driver as he passed. Jacob followed, slipping into the role of shadow as Pratt reached the first Resistance body that wasn’t a blackened corpse. Pratt squatted down, felt for a pulse, shook his head, then moved onto the next one.

Jacob followed, casting a wary eye around as they moved from body to body, Pratt searching for any signs of life.

At the fifth body, he smiled, teeth glinting. He didn’t even need to touch the body, he could see the way they was shaking, blood oozing out of a bullet hole in their leg.

“Got a live one.”

He nodded at Jacob and Jacob knelt down, rolling the body over, and the eyes of a young woman stared up at him, terrified.

Pratt moved forward, and Jacob watched as the fire vanished from his eyes, like he had swallowed it, had blinked it back behind a curtain, and he softened his face. A mask-- not good enough to fool Jacob, but this girl didn’t know Pratt like he did.

Jacob straightened up as Pratt knelt down, keeping an eye out for dangers as Pratt spoke to her.

“Hello.”

The girl’s eyes were wide as she stared into the face of the Enforcer she’d come to fear. She let out a whimper-- she couldn’t have been older than twenty.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Staci Pratt. What’s yours?”

Pratt’s voice was soft, inviting, and Jacob remembered when he’d first arrived, how that voice had made him relax, even though he’d known better. It had a similar effect on the girl—her shaking slowed, but Jacob could see in her eyes the prey instinct telling her that Pratt was still a predator, that he was soaked in blood, even if he spoke sweetly.

Pratt leaned back, lowering himself fully to the ground and crossing his legs. He offered her a smile and repeated his question.

“M-maria.”

“Maria, a nice name. How old are you Maria?”

“Seventeen, s-sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, you can call me Pratt,” Pratt reached out, fingers brushing over the bullet wound, not applying enough pressure for it to hurt, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She shook her head, another whimper forming in her throat, and she tried to pull her leg away from him, wincing.

Pratt hushed her again and then pushed himself up, taking the radio from his belt and calling for a medic.

“Sit tight, someone will be here soon,” he told her, and for a moment, she looked at Jacob, and Jacob wondered vaguely if he’d ever met her before. He didn’t think so.

Pratt was stepping away, moving onto the next body, and Jacob followed, leaving the girl to stare after them.

“Think she knows anything?” Jacob asked Pratt once they were out of earshot.

“She might, and if not, she’s young, she can still learn she has a place here.”

Pratt’s mask had slipped off, his fire free to burn as he continued his corpse hopping. They only found one other Whitetail still breathing, an older woman, whose face twisted into a snarl when she saw Pratt. She was clutching her stomach, but the bleeding wasn’t stopping.

Pratt held the knife out to Jacob.

Jacob took it and knelt down beside the woman.

This one he did know. She’d owned a small bakery down in the Valley, “Studs and Muffins”, and she’d brought some baked goods to the church every Tuesday, always hoping to catch a glimpse of Joseph with his shirt off.

She knew him too, her eyes widening as he gripped the knife.

“Jacob-” she tried to say, but Jacob slid the knife between her rips, fast and effective, and it only took a moment for her eyes to roll up into the back of her head, her hands going limp on her stomach. Jacob reached out, closed her eyes, then stood up, offering the knife back to Pratt.

He felt nothing as he followed Pratt back towards the Center, passing Maria and the medic that was kneeling beside her, wrapping up her leg. He kept his eyes forward, locked on the back of Pratt’s head, and he felt nothing, no shame, no guilt.

There was a freedom in following orders, and Jacob let his mind fill with Pratt and only Pratt as the day went on, as they cleaned up the mess the Resistance had created. Jacob silently moved behind Pratt as he supervised repairs to the walls, held the hand of a dying Follower, and sent the Chosen to rip through the first floor bedrooms, searching for their snake in the garden.

By the end of the day, eleven Followers were dead, the walls were on their way to being reinforced, and Pratt had two serpents kneeling at his feet, one struggling in his bounds, shouting, swearing at Pratt while the other sobbed, choking with tears and apologizing over and over again.

“Fuck you, Pratt! The Resistance will win, your fucking tyranny will never break us, you pile of shit-”

“Please, please, Pratt, I didn’t want to, he made me, I would never betray you, but they threatened me, please—“

Pratt shot the first and left the second to cower in an empty room on the second floor, posting two Chosen outside to keep out any Followers who came looking for revenge.

Eleven dead followers and one dead Judas.

“What about the other one?” Jacob asked as Pratt scrubbed his hands in the bathroom, still covered in blood.

“The Deputy will come soon,” he dug blood out from under his fingernails, “I’ll let her deal with them.”

Jacob slept in a new room that night, the one next to Pratt’s. It had two beds, and the single desk had other people’s possessions on it. A family photo, a few books, including a copy of the fourth Harry Potter, and a chessboard that looked like it had seen better days.

Miller had once told Jacob it was bad luck to sleep in a dead man’s bed.

_It means you’ll be next_.

But Miller had never slept in a dead man’s bed and he had still died anyway, so Jacob said fuck it, and he shoved the two beds together, collapsing down onto them.

When he woke up the next day, he waited for Pratt outside his bedroom, leaning against the wall until Pratt emerged, clean but looking like he hadn’t slept much. There was more to do—the windows on the first and second floors needed new glass, and the blood needed to be scrubbed from the floors.

Pratt visited Maria in one of the rooms that actually served as a hospital, giving her a warm “good morning” and asking about her family, if she wanted to go to college, if she had any pets she was worried about. She answered, warily—I have one brother, my parents are dead, I got accepted into Oberlin University, but it’s too expensive, and no, no pets, I’m allergic to animal fur—and then Pratt talked to the doctor, who told him Maria’s leg would be fine.

Jacob then spent an hour standing outside Pratt’s bedroom while he took a call from The Deputy, staring at the wall, letting his mind go blank.

Pratt emerged from the call looking pissed, but he told Jacob nothing as they sat down for a quick lunch, then moved on to checking on the progress outside with the wall repairs. In fact, Pratt had barely spoken to him the entire morning, and when he did, it was simple, one word commands—go, yes, no, now— but as the sun reached its highest point in the sky Pratt pulled him aside into the Projector Room and shoved Jacob up against the front table, kissing him harshly, teeth biting into Jacob’s lips.

Jacob’s fingers automatically dropped to curl around the lip of the table, and he opened his mouth, drinking Pratt in.

“Good, you’re being so good,” Pratt pressed his forehead against Jacob’s, breaking the kiss. He was breathing heavily, like he’d just run a mile, while Jacob felt calm, grounded by Pratt’s touch.

“You wanna do something for me? Want to make me feel good?” Pratt’s gaze was burning and he was so fucking close.

Jacob nodded, their foreheads still pressed together.

_Anything_.

Pratt’s hands moved to his shoulders and he shoved. Jacob obediently dropped to his knees, letting go of the table, and molten heat shot through him, right down to his cock as he looked up Pratt, whose eyes were alive with fire.

Pratt’s fingers pulled at his belt, opening the buckle and unlatching it. He moved his gun, setting the holster on the table, his handcuffs clinking down beside it. He was moving fast, undoing the button beneath, and Jacob shifted on the ground, settling more comfortably on his knees.

“You can touch me,” Pratt’s eyes burned, pulling down the zipper of his jeans, “You can put your hands on my legs and your mouth on my cock, but that’s it.”

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

The words had Jacob’s jeans growing tight, and he licked his lips as Pratt’s jeans opened and he reached into his boxers, squeezing a hand around his cock, letting out a small groan at his own touch, and Jacob echoed the sound, leaning forward. He’d never been so hungry for something in his life.

“You want it?”

“Yes,” it was almost a growl out of Jacob’s throat, and he watched a shiver go through Pratt’s body as he pulled his cock out.

Jacob’s hands reached up to curl around the back of Pratt’s thighs, savoring the touch, already leaning forward to lick a long strip up Pratt’s cock. It was as salty as his lips were sweet, and Jacob relished in the taste, fitting his lips around the tip and sucking.

“Fuck,” Pratt swore above him, and Jacob pulled him closer by his thighs, taking the cock deeper into his mouth, and wondering just how long it have been since someone had touched Pratt.

He had plenty of people to choose from, half of his Followers were just waiting to be commanded onto their knees, but Jacob had never seen Pratt pay any of them special attention. And if the way he was reacting was any indication, Pratt hadn’t been touched in a while, and Jacob grinned around his mouthful.

He began to bob his head, moaning around Pratt’s cock, feeling his thighs shake and a hand twist tightly into his hair. Oh, he wanted Pratt to come down his throat, or on his face, he itched to be marked.

His hands moved, squeezing the muscles of Pratt’s legs, trying to touch every inch of the body he was being allowed. He wanted to go slower, wanted to draw this out, but Pratt seemed desperate, and Jacob wanted to give him what he wanted.

He took Pratt deep into the back of his throat, relaxing his muscles, then he swallowed, slowly inhaling through his nose, and Pratt whined, his hips jerking.

“Sorry,” Pratt gasped, and Jacob looked up into his eyes.

Oh, the things Joseph would say about Lust.

“You wanna fuck my mouth?” he offered, licking his lips slowly, Pratt’s eyes tracking the movement.

“You want me to?”

“Oh, baby, I’d love it”

The grip in his hair tightened, and Jacob’s grin widened, opening his mouth again, an offering to Pratt. Pratt leaned forward, resting his free hand on the table, angling himself before he thrust down into Jacob’s throat. Jacob kept his body loose, letting Pratt fuck him as he liked, which it turned out, was hard and fast.

Jacob was fucking loving it; this was his Purpose, to be used by Pratt, in anyway he saw fit. His cock was leaking in his pants, and if he wasn’t savoring the feel of Pratt under his hands, he’d have stroked himself raw.

“Fuck, Jacob,” Pratt moaned, fingers flexing in Jacob’s hair, hips growing erratic, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, Jacob.”

Jacob watched him, drinking in the sight as Pratt’s eyes closed and his mouth opened, gasping as he shot down Jacob’s throat, hips jerking and nails digging into Jacob’s scalp.

Jacob milked him through it, swallowing and sucking until Pratt let out a whine. He pulled back, coming off Pratt’s cock with a pop. One of his hands dropped away from Pratt’s thigh, going to his own belt.

“Can I?”

Pratt nodded, eyes hazy as he let go of Jacob’s hair, leaning both of his arms on the table to support himself. Jacob pulled open his belt and jeans and leaned his head forward to press against Pratt’s leg, shuddering as he jerked his cock. It took barely a minute for his come to splatter down onto the floor, just missing Pratt’s shoes by an inch.

_I’d have licked it off if he asked._

Jacob breathed against Pratt’s leg, pressing a kiss to the denim, then turning to press a kiss to his spent cock.

Pratt made a quiet noise above him, and Jacob smiled.

“Sensitive?”

Pratt nodded against his arms

“I like how you taste.”

Pratt slid his head down just a bit so he could see Jacob, who grinned up at him. The fire was gone from Pratt’s eyes, replaced by a softly burning ember, and Jacob craned his neck up, stopping just short of Pratt’s lips, letting Pratt press the rest of the way down to kiss him.

_I love you._

“’m gonna do what I said I would,” Jacob whispered against his lips, raising a hand up to hover over Pratt’s cheek, tracing the air like he wanted to trace the skin, “Wasn’t just some shit I said while drunk. I’ll be yours, Pratt, I’ll kill Eli and anyone else you want me to.”

Pratt’s hand reached out to cover Jacob’s, pressing it forward against his face. Jacob’s heart ached with love.

They stayed there, Jacob kneeling on the floor, Pratt leaning over him, until the radio at Pratt’s side crackled to life, a Follower calling into Pratt’s private channel to tell him that The Deputy had arrived.


	10. Chapter 10

Jacob followed Pratt down the stairs, Pratt clutching his radio in one hand and reattaching his gun and handcuffs to his belt with the other, doing a rather admirable job of looking like Jacob hadn’t just sucked him off and promised to kill at his command.

The Deputy was waiting on the first floor, talking quietly to the group of Followers that had gathered, hanging on her every word. They parted for Pratt as he approached, and The Deputy reached out to pull Pratt into a hug. Like with Joey, Pratt pressed into the touch instead of jerking away, his arms going around The Deputy, squeezing before they drew away from each other.

“Staci,” The Deputy smiled, “Let’s talk.”

“Back to work,” Pratt looked back at his Followers, the order soft, but an order none the less, and the Followers moved to obey, shooting smiles back at The Deputy and murmuring amongst themselves.

Jacob stayed where he was, a few feet behind Pratt, and The Deputy’s eyes turned to him.

“Jacob,” she greeted, and Pratt stepped aside so she could approach him.

“Deputy,” the hairs on the back of his neck rose, warning him that he was in the presence of a predator. Before that night in the church, Jacob had never met The Deputy, didn’t even know her actual name having avoided law enforcement whenever he could. She was young, but if he had to guess, he’d say she was older than Pratt, maybe older than Hudson too, but it was hard to tell. Had she been at police academy with them? Pratt had never mentioned her in their talks before Jacob’s sessions, and Jacob realized he’d never actually asked.

“How are you settling in?” The Deputy’s eyes drifted from his swollen lips to his unbound hands, expression unreadable, but eyes piercing, like she could smell Pratt on him, could see more than just Jacob’s exterior, and in a weird way, she reminded Jacob strongly of Joseph.

“Well.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Most people take well to Staci’s hospitality, but I had my doubts about you.”

Jacob didn’t respond, and from the smile The Deputy gave him, that had been the right move. Cured of his loud mouth, as per request.

She turned back to Pratt, reaching out to touch his shoulder as she walked towards the door, “You’ve done well with him. Let’s get some air, Staci.”

Pratt locked eyes with Jacob for a second, his lips twitching upwards slightly, and Jacob felt warm as he saw the pride in Pratt’s dark eyes. He tilted his head towards the door, signaling for Jacob to follow, and then he stepped after the Deputy, moving to walk side by side with her as she headed out the door and towards the cages.

The conversation was kept light, The Deputy asking Pratt how he was, asking if he needed anything, if he’d been hurt in the attack. Pratt answered, telling her that he was fine, that more glass would be needed for the second floor windows, and that no, he hadn’t been hurt, but his guards had been killed.

“A shame, I liked them.”

“I did too.”

“Jacob will be taking their place?”

“Yes.”

The Deputy glanced back at Jacob, who was following just close enough that he was able to hear them, but keeping far enough back to seem unimposing. Jacob couldn’t even begin to guess what she was thinking, her face smooth, but she didn’t say anything to him before looking back at Pratt.

“Show me the prisoners.”

Pratt obeyed, moving into the cluster of cages and stopping to introduce each captive. Most had been sent in from the Holland Valley when Joey had taken Fall’s End, shop keepers and the like. Mary May and Pastor Jerome may have eluded capture, but their neighbors had not been so lucky.

“They’re doing well,” Pratt told the Deputy as they stopped in front of Steven Blake, the gun shop owner, and the man bowed his head. He’d been fed for the first time that morning.

Only Casey Fixman was dead so far. Pratt had shot him two days into his imprisonment, killing the hope of all the others with one bullet.

The Deputy nodded, and they moved beyond the cages, Pratt taking her to see the Followers that were repairing the wall. She stepped forward to speak to them while Pratt and Jacob waited, Pratt staying silent and Jacob following his lead.

“All and all, not too bad,” The Deputy said when she rejoined them, but Pratt grew tense behind Jacob, anticipating her next words: “But it shouldn’t have happened, Staci.”

“I know.”

“Your men are supposed to be reliable, supposed to be loyal to the core.”

Pratt nodded, eyes dropping to the ground.

The Deputy stepped forward, her voice lowering, and Jacob had to hold his breath to hear, his fingers twisting together behind his back as something growled in his chest, telling him to get between Pratt and The Deputy.

“We’re in a precarious place, Staci. We’re so close, so very close, but I need to be able to trust my soldiers.”

Pratt nodded again.

“I know you’re capable, I know these were just two out of hundreds, but you could have been killed Staci. I need you.”

Pratt nodded for a third time, a bit shaky.

“Is Eli Palmer still alive?”

“Yes,” Pratt’s voice sounded a little choked, and The Deputy frowned.

“You’ve had months, Staci.”

“I know.”

“Have you located the Wolf’s Den?”

“No.”

“Staci.”

The Deputy’s voice went hard, and Pratt seemed to shrink a little bit.

“I need him dealt with, now.”

“I know.”

“With Mary May and the Pastor loose in the Valley, Tracey Lader blowing up ships in the Henbane, and Joseph Seed rallying the people at Sunrise Farm, I need Eli-”

The Deputy broke off when a strangled noise came out of Jacob’s throat.

“Joseph?” the name was out of his mouth before he could stop it and he saw anger flash across Pratt’s face while disappointment crossed The Deputy’s.

“Staci has not told you?”

“No.”

“Your brother Joseph has become quite the symbol of hope for the little Resistance. He’s the one that got Mary May and the Pastor out of Fall’s End,” The Deputy watched him with fuckin’ hawk like intensity as he digested this information, and try as he might, Jacob could not keep the relief and pride out of his eyes.

_Joseph was alive, was fighting back with that fucking powerful spirt of his._

“Whitehorse will deal with him,” Pratt’s jaw was set, his words pushed out from behind gritted teeth, “And I will deal with Eli.”

“Joey couldn’t deal with him, and if Whitehorse can’t either, I guess you’ll get your chance,” The Deputy’s was speaking to Pratt, but still looking at Jacob, “Maybe you can bring two Seeds to their knees.”

The image of Joseph starving in a cage rose in Jacob’s mind and he growled, fury blossoming in his chest, unable to stop it even though he knew The Deputy was fucking trying to bait him, and he took a step forward towards her. She was small enough that he could fucking rip her apart with his hands if he wanted to.

“If you fucking touch him-”

“Jacob,” Pratt’s cold, angry voice brought him back to reality, and he retreated back the step he had taken, but the damage was done, and The Deputy was turning back to Pratt, looking unimpressed.

“I’d recommend keeping him cuffed a little longer, Staci.”

Pratt’s eyes seared into Jacob’s flesh as The Deputy gave the workers on the wall one last glance before she started back off towards the Center.

“I want to see our Judas and the little lamb the militia left behind,” she called back to Pratt, who tore his eyes away from Jacob and started off after her.

Jacob looked out towards the broken parts of the wall, and the urge to run was agonizingly strong for a second.

_Joseph is alive, he’s out there._

But Pratt called his name again, and Jacob shivered, turning to obey, to follow.

He and Pratt waited in the hall while The Deputy talked to the traitor that Pratt hadn’t shot, Pratt silently seething next to Jacob while Jacob found himself simmering, caught between thinking of Joseph and thinking of Pratt. For the last few years, Joseph had been the only thing keeping him going, making him get out of bed in the morning, and Pratt hadn’t told him a god damn thing, Jacob had been well on his way to believing Joseph was dead. Pratt fueled him, burned a fire in his very essence that made him enjoy getting up, made him want to obey, to live, but he didn’t overshadow Joseph like he did John and Faith.

_Yet._

Jacob flexed and unflexed his fingers, wishing Pratt would say something, but the fire was back in Pratt’s eyes and the hallway stayed deadly silent until The Deputy remerged and Pratt led her down to meet Maria.

The Deputy was gentle with her, as Pratt was, and Maria looked overwhelmed to have the leader of the Followers sitting on her bed and talking to her with a smile. The Deputy asked her nothing about Eli or the Wolf’s Den, doing as Pratt had done, asking her personal questions, softening her edges.

Lastly, leaving Maria to rest, The Deputy had Pratt bring her down into the basement, which Jacob hadn’t even been aware the Center had. He waited on the first floor, heat in his stomach, and he tensed as he heard shouting below, growing louder until the two leaders reemerged, pulling a handcuffed Jess Black with them. She swore at Jacob as she passed, spiting in his direction before she was pushed forward into the hands of a Chosen, who dragged her outside, depositing her into The Deputy’s car, waiting to take her to the Valley.

“I’ll give you one more month, Staci,” the Deputy told Pratt as they stepped out into the dark yard, the car already rumbling and ready, “One month to find Eli before I come and I do it myself.”

Pratt nodded, thanking her quietly before letting her pull him into another hug.

Pratt’s grip was tighter around her this time, fingers bunching in her uniform, the same forest green as his own, for just a moment before relaxing, and she ran a hand over his hair, kissing his forehead when she pulled back.

“It’s all right, Staci. I know you can do it.”

Pratt nodded, but didn’t respond, and they shared a smile, Pratt’s a bit shaky, a bit forced, before The Deputy cast one last look at Jacob and slid into the passenger side of the car. The car’s lights switched on, and Jacob watched it move out and away from the Center, Pratt waiting until the car was out of sight, night thoroughly having fallen around them, before he turned to Jacob.

“Wait for me upstairs.”

His voice was flat, and he didn’t wait for Jacob to move before he pushed passed him, disappearing back into the Center.

Upstairs could mean one of three places: Jacob’s room, Pratt’s room, or the Projector room. Really, it could only mean one of the last two, and Jacob knew that Pratt probably meant the Projector Room, but he hadn’t been specific and Jacob, who knew he was already in trouble, was still a bit angry.

Jacob opened the door to Pratt’s room, closing it behind him, and he took his chance to look around. He hadn’t seen much in his drunken haze, nor his “we are under attack” hustle, so he let his eyes trail over Pratt’s personal space.

It was actually kind of messy. Pratt’s bed took up a good chuck of space, a queen size in a room built for a twin, and it was unmade, some of the sheets trailing down onto the floor. His desk had a closed laptop on it and a dozen different folded maps were spilled out across the top it, an empty bowl and glass sitting next to it with a jar of peanut butter and Nutella sitting dangerously close to the edge of the desk. There was a picture of two Latina women in a picture frame, both of them smiling at the camera, and Jacob guessed it was Pratt’s mother and grandmother. They both had Pratt’s dark brown eyes, and the older of the two women had his smile.

Next to the picture was a deeply familiar, shiny little instrument, gleaming in the light that Jacob had flicked on, and when Jacob reached out a hand to brush his fingers over the metal, it was warm despite having spent the day untouched. The idea of picking it up felt wrong, even touching it was a bit iffy, but Jacob let himself trace the initials on the side of it, nail catching slightly on the _M_ before he drew his hand back.

Looking at the harmonica, the picture, the mess, cooled the last of his anger, replacing it with affection, and he resolved himself to facing Pratt’s temper. The last time he had let his emotions get the better of him with Pratt, drunk in his bed, unable to control his tears, or before that, breaking the chair and forcing himself on Pratt, was not something he was looking to repeat, and Jacob was determined to keep calm this time. He moved to the center of the room, locked his fingers together behind his back, and set his eyes on the door, waiting for Pratt.

He stood there for well over an hour, the digital clock on Pratt’s bedside table going from 8:27 to 9:53 before he heard footsteps.

The doorknob turned and Pratt stepped in, closing it before coming to a halt instantly when he saw Jacob. There was blood on his uniform where there hadn’t been before, and for a moment he had looked utterly exhausted before the fire flared back up.

“I meant wait in the Projector Room.”

“You weren’t specific.”

“Yeah, I clearly fucking wasn’t.”

Jacob’s moment of anger was costing him.

“You want me to go?”

“Are you _trying_ to piss me off?”

It was a valid question and an hour ago, the answer might have been yes, but Jacob was determined to be calm.

“No.”

Pratt looked unimpressive, and his hands dropped down to his belt, unclipping his handcuffs.

“Turn around.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Turn. Around.”

Jacob obeyed, turning his back to Pratt, his hands already in place behind him, and he felt the metal snap around his wrists, Pratt tightening them as much as they would go.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Pratt was fuming behind him, “Gonna attack The Deputy in the middle of my god damn stronghold?”

“You knew about Joseph?”

“Of course I fucking knew about Joseph.”

Jacob turned back to face Pratt.

“You should have told me.”

Pratt’s eyes flashed and he shoved Jacob back, Jacob sitting down hard on the bed when it collided with the back of his knees.

“Don’t tell me what I should do!” Pratt hissed, reaching down for his gun, and for a solid second, Jacob honest to god thought he was going to shoot him, but Pratt’s fingers closed around the holster instead and he detached it from his belt.

“Your place is here, with me, wherever I decide, and Joseph isn’t fucking here. I will tell you what I want, when I want,” Pratt glared at him, throwing the gun down onto the bed beside him, his badge joining it shortly, bouncing on the mattress.

Jacob tried to keep his voice soft while Pratt raged, and oh, how the tables had turned in such a fucked up way.

“I just wanted to know my brother was alive.”

“You fucking embarrassed me.”

Pratt’s face was red, beautiful in his anger, and shame curled in Jacob’s stomach, body reacting to Pratt’s displeasure.

“She was already disappointed that it’s taken me so long to kill Eli and his fucking Whitetails, and then you pull that shit, just after I tried to show her you could be trusted? _Fuck you_. I gave you a fucking chance and you spit it back in my face.”

_Shame, shame, shame._

“Were you lying to me? Huh? When you said you wanted to be mine? Just said some shit and hoped maybe I’d give you something?”

“No,” Jacob whispered.

“Congratulations I suppose, you got a drunken rut and some touching out of it, that’s more than anyone else has gotten. Well fucking done.”

“You know that’s not why I said it.”

“Shut up, _shut up_, what do I know?” his eyes were burning, like an angry god, and Jacob could feel the heat rolling off of him as his fingers twitched, like he was physically fighting the urge to hit something as he snarled, “God, you make me feel so fucking stupid, so fucking angry. I freed you, let you walk behind me, let you touch me, but I can’t fucking _trust_ you can I? One mention of your family and none of it matters!”

Jacob didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what Pratt needed to hear, but it didn’t matter because Pratt wasn’t interested in listening. His hands landed on Jacob’s shoulders and Jacob found himself being shoved down onto his back. He was sober this time as Pratt climbed on top of him, his hands trapped painfully beneath him and the ceiling light haloing around Pratt’s dark hair. His knees settled on either side of Jacob’s hips, and his hands pressed into the mattress beside Jacob’s head.

“You make me so stupid,” it was a whisper now, and Jacob could smell the blood on Pratt’s uniform, could see the desperation beneath the anger in his eyes, “How many times do I have to make the same mistake before I’ll learn?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m tired of hearing that from you. I was so sure,” Pratt gritted his teeth, the desperation beginning to devour the anger as he looked down at Jacob, “I was so sure you were ready, that you meant what you said.”

“Pratt, they’re my family,” Jacob whispered, “Before you, they were everything I had.”

Pratt didn’t speak.

“I told you what it was like without them, the shelter, the nightmares,” Jacob kept his voice soft, “I love them. I can love them and still be loyal to you; I let The Deputy goad me, I should have been Stronger, but I never would have hurt her, not if you didn’t want me to.”

Pratt still didn’t speak.

“I know how important The Deputy is to you,” Jacob added, searching Pratt’s eyes, “I should have talked to you in private afterwards, I didn’t think.”

Pratt’s silence was making his stomach twist, and he just wanted to make things better, to make Pratt stop looking at him like that, like Jacob had ripped into him.

“Pratt,” he whispered, pleaded, “Pratt, please.”

“You made me look Weak,” Pratt voice was so quiet, so unsure, and his fingers tightened in the sheets and suddenly desperation was the only thing left in his eyes, a need to be sure, to be in control; it was a heartbreaking expression, but Jacob didn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m not good at this, Pratt,” he said, weak to his own ears, and Pratt laughed, a choked sound, but better than nothing and he reached up to press a hand over his eyes, the laughter dying in his throat as fast as it had come.

“Shit, Jacob, I don’t need you to be good at this, whatever the fuck this is,” he pressed his fingers down, Jacob watching as his knuckles went white before he pulled his hand away from his face, eyes dry “But fuck, if you’re going to be mine, you need to fucking commit to it.”

“I will.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes,” Jacob watched Pratt watch him, pliant beneath him, the pain in his hands and shoulders no longer registering as he breathed in, slow and deep, filling his lungs, brown watching blue.

He watched Pratt’s jaw tense then relax, his mouth open then close, the bed creaking as he shifted his weight forward, then back. Jacob took another deep breath… in… out…and Pratt echoed it… in… out…, a shudder going through his body. They stayed there, breathing together, existing together, until Pratt finally closed his eyes and leaned down, brushing against Jacob’s cheek as he pressed his face into Jacob’s throat.

Jacob kept still, keeping his breathing steady and his body calm as Pratt’s hand moved to curl around his shoulder, fingers pressing down against the healed arrow wound in his shoulder.

“Jacob.”

Jacob turned his head, the slightest of movements, to brush his lips against Pratt’s hair, and he felt Pratt sigh against his throat, felt him shiver above him.

“You’re mine?” Pratt’s breath was warm on his skin.

“Yes.”

“Only mine?”

“Yes, only yours.”

“Not John’s?”

“No.”

“Not Faith’s?”

“No.”

“Not Joseph’s?”

Jacob’s heart tightened, and he could see his middle brother in his mind, smiling at him, reaching out for him, hand outstretched.

“_No.”_

He almost choked on the word, and it felt something like a lie, Joseph was different, Joseph meant so much, and he half expected Pratt to shove back, to lash out, to snarl at him, fire rekindled, but he just let out another sigh against Jacob’s throat.

“Good,” his hand left his shoulder, moving up, and Jacob turned into the warm touch on his cheek, “Good, that’s what I need from you, Jacob, I’m sorry too, I just,” Pratt’s fingers followed familiar paths along his scars “I let my feelings get the better of me. I need you to be with me, Jacob, on my side, with everything.”

“You have me, you can have anything you want from me.”

Pratt pulled his face back so he could look into Jacob’s eyes. Brown on blue, and Jacob was sure, and Pratt was calm.

“Lift up.”

Jacob brought the weight off his arms, tightening his core to lift his upper half so Pratt could reach below him, the key pulled out of his pocket, and the handcuffs clicked as they unlocked. His shoulders were sore, his wrists hurt, but it was background noise in his mind as he freed his hands from beneath him and Pratt’s fingers curled around his wrists.

His touch was gentle, and as much as Jacob had enjoyed the facefucking he’d received earlier, this felt more like Pratt as Pratt leaned down to kiss him, tugging on Jacob’s wrists, pulling him up to keep their lips connected as he sat up, humming quietly.

Pratt was a warm weight in his lap, and he pulled Jacob’s hands up, his fingers caressing the back of Jacob’s, pressing them against his throat and Jacob could feel Pratt’s pulse beneath his touch, strong and just on the edge of too fast as they kissed, Pratt sweet on his tongue.

Pratt’s grip on Jacob’s fingers tightened as Jacob’s tongue brushing against Pratt’s lips, asking to taste more, but he didn’t pull away, he instead pulled their hands down, dragging Jacob’s fingers down his chest, the uniform soft with wear, but sticky with blood, and Jacob could feel the hard body underneath, the wiry muscle, the softer stomach, and he murmured Pratt’s name against his lips.

“Take it off,” Pratt murmured back, and his fingers left Jacob’s.

Jacob’s hands moved back up, free from guidance, and his fingers spreading wide to touch as much of Pratt as he could, relishing the heat, the feeling of Pratt shiver under his hands, and a small sound passed from his mouth to Jacob’s. The buttons of his uniform were small under Jacob’s fingers, and as slow as Jacob wanted to move, as gentle as he wanted to be, _want_ was beginning to unsteady his fingers, and he could feel the kiss growing harsher as he pressed into Pratt, slipping the first button free with some difficulty, then sliding down to the next, his tongue slipping into Pratt’s mouth with a moan.

“Easy,” Pratt was breathless when the kiss finally broke, half of his uniform unbuttoned, and his face was flushed, his hands coming to rest on Jacob’s forearms, not guiding, just giving himself something to touch.

“Yeah, shit,” Jacob forced himself to slow down, it was only a shirt for god’s sake, _Pratt’s shirt_, and his fingers brushed against the last button, which was sticky with blood.

“What happened?” Jacob asked as he ran a thumb over it, glancing down before he popped the button free.

“Dealt with our second Judas.”

“They deserved worse,” it came out almost as a growl, Jacob watching as Pratt moved to shrug the outer layer off, taking a moment to reach down and pull his shoes and socks off as well, and Jacob could see the shifting of his muscles beneath the black undershirt, could see the outline of Pratt’s nipples, and his fingers ached and fuck, he _wanted._

_If Pratt had been hurt, I would have ripped them limb from limb._

“They weren’t worth wasting any more time on. Take this off.”

Jacob didn’t need to be asked twice; his fingers curled around the hem of Pratt’s shirt and he pulled it over his head, throwing it somewhere behind them as finally Pratt’s chest was bare to him.

It was smoother than Jacob’s, only a few scars marring dark skin, and there was less hair than Jacob had expected, most of it carefully sculpted, an attention paid to landscaping that Jacob hadn’t really ever done, but suited Pratt. Without the shirt he could see the way Pratt’s muscles flexed as he moved on Jacob’s lap, shifting under the weight of Jacob’s eyes, and Jacob smiled.

“Where are all your tattoos?” he ghosted a hand over Pratt’s chest, not touching yet as he heard Pratt inhale sharply as his fingers came close “Fuck The Police would look good right here.”

“I’ve got that as a tramp stamp.”

Jacob snorted, and Pratt cracked a smile, the tension in his body easing. He reached out his hands again to pull Jacob to him, pressing Jacob’s fingers against the naked skin and Jacob hummed, warmth glowing through him at the first touch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and Pratt’s fingers tightened, silent.

“Can I touch more?”

Pratt nodded, still a little stiff, and Jacob was careful as he began to move, brushing his fingers out to Pratt’s sides, his eyes drinking in what his hands weren’t touching, and he wondered if there was someone somewhere more blessed than he was in that moment. He doubted it.

He leaned forward to press his lips to Pratt’s shoulder, and Pratt made another noise, something that sounded like Jacob’s name, and Jacob hummed, drawing his lips along Pratt’s collarbone, pressing his tongue into the crevasse at the base of Pratt’s throat. He felt Pratt’s fingers move to press into his jacket, twisting into the material, and his hands slid around to Pratt’s back.

He moved his mouth down, kissing a trail down Pratt’s sternum, then flattened his tongue against the sweet skin, licking a stripe up over Pratt’s nipple and Pratt shivered, his legs squeezing against Jacob’s.

Jacob repeated the movement, his hands moving over Pratt’s back, feeling smooth, warm skin, and as Pratt shuddered Jacob felt him rock forward, something hard pressing up against Jacob’s stomach. Jacob smiled.

“You are sensitive, aren’t you?” Jacob looked up at Pratt, licking his lips, and Pratt’s eyes followed the movement, his lips red where he’d bitten them in the absence of Jacob’s mouth.

“I like you like this, although, I always like you.”

Pratt looked away, cheeks growing dark with blood, and Jacob’s smile widened, his hands on Pratt’s back pressing him forward, pulling Pratt’s lower half more firmly against him, and he could feel how hard Pratt’s cock was getting as he pressed his mouth back to Pratt, drinking in the small sounds he made as he ground his dick against Jacob’s stomach.

“Tell me what you want,” Jacob whispered against his skin, his own cock growing hard and heavy in his jeans, and he sucked at Pratt’s skin, Pratt shivering and rocking down against him in a movement that made Jacob groan, his grip on Pratt tightening.

“Fuck, let go.”

Jacob let out a whine, but he did as he was told, instantly dropping his hands away from Pratt, pressing them into the mattress behind himself and leaning back, his mouth leaving Pratt’s chest with a quiet pop. It felt for a moment like ice water had been poured on him, anguished by Pratt’s words, but Pratt didn’t looked displeased. He looked… god, fucking pretty, fucking good.

He was breathing heavily in Jacob’s lap, lips and cheeks red, a dusting of _want _in his dark, shining eyes, that had a different sort of fire in them now, and Jacob’s eyes fell to his cock, obvious and straining against the line of his jeans.

“Please.”

The word was out of Jacob’s mouth before his mind had fully formed it, every part of him aching as he looked at Pratt, and Pratt laughed, breathless, happy, and Jacob wanted so badly to please.

“It’s okay,” Pratt reached out to touch his cheek and Jacob groaned, pressing into it, “It’s just… a lot.”

“You fucked my face like a champ a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, but this is different, isn’t it?” Pratt’s smile didn’t fade, and Jacob nodded, emotion bubbling in his heart.

“Just, scoot back, I want you against the wall.”

Pratt lifted his weight up, and Jacob obediently moved back on the bed until his back hit the wall. Pratt followed, reaching out to tug on Jacob’s legs, pulling them apart and stretch them out so that Pratt could turn and settle back against him, his back against Jacob’s chest, his ass pressing against his cock, making Jacob swallow back another groan as Pratt reached back for his hands, pulling them around him and back down onto his chest.

“It’s been a while since anyone’s touched me like this.”

Pratt leaned his head back, resting it on Jacob’s shoulder, his fingers resting over Jacob’s as he slid them along his body.

“Been a while since I’ve _wanted _anyone to touch me like this.”

_Oh, I love you._

He slid Jacob’s left hand over his chest, pressing Jacob’s thumb down against his nipple, and he rocked his hips up into the air, having left himself with nothing to grind against. Jacob pressed his lips down against Pratt’s throat, leaving a line of kisses along it, but making no mark, letting Pratt touch himself as he liked with Jacob’s hands, which were bigger, rougher than his own.

When he finally moved further south, bringing Jacob’s hand down to brush against his jeans, to cup around his cock, the moan he let out vibrated through both of them, loud and hot in Jacob’s ear, and Jacob couldn’t help grinding up against him.

“Let me,” he said, pulling one hand free of Pratt’s, using it to grip Pratt’s other wrist, “Let me do the work, just relax.”

Pratt nodded, eyes closed, and he let Jacob pull his hand away so he was free to move as he liked, squeezing around Pratt’s cock and making him lift his hips, pushing up into Jacob’s touch.

“There you go,” Jacob murmured in his ear, hands working to undo Pratt’s belt, “I’ve got you, so beautiful, just relax.”

Pratt’s belt and pants were undone for the second time that day, this time by Jacob, and he sighed, pressing his head back against Jacob’s shoulder as Jacob slid a hand down past his underwear, curling his fingers around Pratt’s cock.

Jacob had loved having it in his mouth, had loved being on his knees for Pratt, but holding him like this, with Pratt all around him, his face so close that all Jacob had to do was nudge him to make him turn for a kiss, made his heart swell. Pratt could probably feel it, pressed up against his back, beating a pattern into his skin, and Jacob began to move his hand as he kissed Pratt breathless, swallowing his moans.

He pulled Pratt out of his pants and began to jerk him, keeping his pumps slow, using Pratt’s precome to lube the way, and he stroked a thumb over the tip, delighting in the way it made Pratt’s mouth open, a quiet whine in his throat, and he took the opportunity to suck on Pratt’s tongue, his free hand coming to rest on Pratt’s stomach, feeling the way it flexed.

“More,” it was a breath in Jacob’s mouth and his hand moved faster, twisting on each up pull and Pratt’s hips pressed up before grinding back down against Jacob’s dick.

Jacob swore quietly, and he finally pulled his lips away from Pratt’s to watch Pratt fuck himself up into Jacob’s hand. It wasn’t the hard, furious pace Pratt had set in the Projector Room, it was slower, gentler, but it was still Pratt trying to chase his pleasure, and Jacob would never have denied him.

“Jacob,” Pratt pressed his face into Jacob’s throat, mouth open as his muscles flexed under the hand on his stomach, and Jacob sped up, watching how Pratt’s body shook, how his toes curled, and how his hands seemed to reach for Jacob of their own accord, one digging nails into the hand on his stomach and the other twisting into his jacket again.

_Mine?_ _Is he mine?_

Jacob didn’t know, but it didn’t matter right now as Pratt’s teeth were suddenly biting into his throat and Pratt’s hips jerked before locking up, come splattering up onto his chest, over Jacob’s fingers, and Jacob milked it out of him, his hands moving over Pratt’s cock until his body started to tremble, his muscles unlocking, his teeth leaving a large red bite mark against the white of Jacob’s throat.

Jacob let go of his cock, running a hand up Pratt’s chest until Pratt managed to whine out a quiet “no” and Jacob removed his hands completely, giving Pratt a moment to come back down, to still his shaking and quiet his harsh breathing, to relax back down into Jacob’s body, Jacob’s cock still hard under him.

“Good?” Jacob murmured.

“Yeah,” Pratt breathed, reaching down to pull his underwear back up, but shoving his jeans down, using his feet to drag them down his legs and then kicked them off the bed. The movement did not help Jacob’s situation.

“Can I?” Jacob slid a hand down beneath Pratt to palm the bulge in his pants.

“Yeah, yeah, just wait a moment,” Pratt reached up to push his hair out of his face, body going loose and lazy on top of Jacob, and Jacob let his eyes wandered over bared legs, giving his hips a slow roll up into his hand, trying not to shift Pratt on top of him.

“I said wait.”

“Fuck,” Jacob stopped the small moments, letting his head thump back against the wall, and he felt more than heard Pratt chuckle before he lifted off, hands pressing down into the bed and maneuvering himself off and down, rolling onto his side by Jacob’s legs, hand almost lazy as it began to pull at Jacob’s buckle.

Pratt propped his head up on the hand not touching Jacob, taking his time to undo the belt one handed while Jacob did his best to hold still. Pratt had never directly touched him anywhere but his arms, throat, and face—it had always been through his clothes, and now Pratt’s hand was so close to him, and Jacob was hungry for it, his teeth biting into his lips to keep himself quiet.

“You want my mouth?”

Jacob almost bit through his god damn lip, hips jerking at Pratt’s question.

That got another laugh out of Pratt, low and breathy as he finally pulled the leather of Jacob’s belt free of the metal, and Jacob didn’t know if he was just teasing, but fuck.

“Whatever you want,” he told Pratt, pushing down the part of him that desperately wanted to see Pratt’s red lips wrapped around his cock, fisting his hands into the sheets on either side of him to stop himself from reaching for Pratt.

“My dick to do with what I please, yeah?” Pratt sounded like he wanted to laugh again, but there was also a darker sort of pleasure in his voice, like Jacob had answered exactly as he wanted, and Jacob’s sighed as Pratt finally undid the button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper, loosening the pressure around his dick.

“How ‘bout,” Pratt ran his fingers over the edge of Jacob’s boxers, letting them linger, “You listen real good, and I’ll decide later?”

Jacob nodded, feeling a pull of warm in his gut as warm fingers brushed against his skin. Then Pratt was shifting again, sitting up, his hand leaving Jacob’s skin to pull on his shirt.

“Take this off.”

Jacob leaned away from the wall and shrugged his jacket off, tossing it onto the floor, pulling his shirt off after it. Pratt tugged at the leg of his pants and Jacob pressed his back against the wall to leverage his weight off the bed, shucking off his shoes, socks, jeans, and underwear, which joined the rest of his clothes on the floor.

“Lie down.”

Jacob tipped to the side, his shoulder coming into contact with the cold metal of Pratt’s badge, but he reached up to push it away as he maneuvered onto his back, both the badge and Pratt’s gun hitting the floor with a thunk.

“That’s not very safe,” Pratt chided him.

“The whole room is already a death trap.”

“I’m not that messy.”

“If you say so,” Jacob grinned up at him and received a sharp poke to the stomach for his trouble, laughing as Pratt scowled down at him.

He stopped laughing when Pratt moved again, his hands moving down to shove Jacob’s legs back apart, casual as can be, and Jacob spread them, anticipation curling in his stomach as Pratt pressed a knee down between them, straddling one of Jacob’s legs, not quite touching him yet but the ghost of heat coming off of Pratt’s skin.

Pratt had seen him naked before, when he’d had Jacob shoved into the shower months ago, and Jacob made no move to hide himself as brown eyes moved up and down his body, stopping to linger on his scars, on his freckles, and on his cock, hard and red, pressing up against his stomach. His time with the Chosen had allowed him to build muscle back up, his regular meals keeping his body thick and healthy, and he liked what he saw in Pratt’s eyes as Pratt looked at him. There was no wariness, no fear, just a keen short of satisfaction that had Pratt’s lips twitching up into a smile, the cat that got the cream, and Jacob ached to be touched.

“Look at you,” Pratt murmured, low, intimate, “So different from when I took you, almost perfect.”

Jacob wanted that “almost” removed, wanted to be perfect, everything Pratt desired, and he waited, itching for his next order.

“Close your eyes.”

Jacob’s eyes closed.

“Open your mouth.”

Jacob lips twitched up and he parted them, opening his mouth, exposing his tongue and teeth.

“Close it.”

Jacob’s teeth snapped back together.

“Good and obedient,” Pratt’s hand finally touched him, pressing down on his thigh, using it to hold his weight as he leaned over Jacob, and Jacob tensed the leg, letting his muscles press up against Pratt’s hand, good and Strong, and Pratt laughed quietly.

“I was wrong to doubt you,” he continued, voice soft, his fingers squeezing around Jacob’s leg, “We all have our moments of Weakness. My family once meant a lot to me too.”

Jacob thought of the two women in the picture, Pratt’s mother and grandmother, his family. Pratt had told him his grandmother had died only a few years ago, and he knew the only thing Pratt’s father had ever given him was his last name. Was his mother dead too? Had their family fallen apart?

“It hurts to be alone, Jacob. You know that, don’t you?”

Jacob did know it, knew it intimately.

“Look at me.”

Jacob opened his eyes. Pratt was above him, closer than before, his brown eyes full of something that made Jacob’s heart ache, and as he watched, Pratt leaned down, his free hand coming to cup Jacob’s cheek, and Jacob welcomed the kiss, a bittersweet taste in his mouth, lasting only a second before Pratt broke it, pressing his forehead against Jacob’s.

“We’ll keep each other company, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Jacob’s voice was rough, love rising up in his throat to choke him.

“You know what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jacob repeated, _Eli_.

“Your brother won’t get in your way?”

“No.”

And Jacob meant it this time, with Pratt so close and them both so naked, Jacob meant it with certainty.

Pratt nodded, eyes searching Jacob’s, thumb absentmindedly stroking his cheek, and Jacob let him look, let him see the honesty there, the love.

“Pratt,” he whispered, and Pratt kissed him again, longer this time, sweeter this time, and he felt Pratt’s legs shift, his knees moving to support him, and the hand slid from Jacob’s thigh to wrap around his cock. It had softened somewhat in Jacob’s turn of emotions, but Pratt’s touch brought his attention back to the pull in his gut, the eagerness to be touched.

He groaned quietly in Pratt’s mouth as his hand began to move, pumping Jacob’s cock back to hardness and deepening the kiss, sucking on Jacob’s bottom lip until it was bright red before he pulled back.

“I want you to enjoy this,” Pratt looked down at where he was touching Jacob, watched how Jacob’s hips tensed and untensed as he tried not to move, Pratts free hand sliding down off of Jacob’s cheek to run over his chest.

“When we’re apart I want you to think of me, to think of this, and know that it’s where you belong.”

His fingers touched Jacob’s scars, touched the jagged hole Jess Black’s arrow had left in his shoulder, touched the skin over his heart, that was clear of damaged but dotted with so many freckles beneath dark red hair that it was like he was bleeding.

“Move, come on.”

Jacob didn’t need to be told twice; his hips bucked up against Pratt’s fingers, and Pratt tightened his fist, giving him a tight hole to fuck up into and Jacob cursed, pressing his feet down against the mattress to leverage himself, his back beginning to ache.

Pratt sat back, resting fully on his knees before Jacob’s movements displaced him, chuckling despite himself and Jacob grinned, Pratt’s words seared into his mind as he moved.

“Hey,” Pratt loosened his grip and the groan in Jacob’s throat turned half into a growl, prompting another laugh.

“Shit, calm down.”

“_Pratt.”_

“Just stopping to give you some choices, you want my mouth or you wanna come on me?”

“Mouth.”

Jacob was maybe a bit too quick to answer, but Pratt just rolled his eyes and pressed his hand to Jacob’s hips, pushing them back flush with the bed and he bent to swallow his cock down.

“_Fuck,” _Jacob’s hands twisted into the sheets, wishing it was Pratt’s hair, and he bucked his hips up against Pratt’s hand. Pratt let him, his hand keeping Jacob from thrusting too deeply, and Jacob was close within seconds, tightening his core to hold out as Pratt sucked him mercilessly.

“Fuck,” he repeated, “Pratt, shit, got me fucked up.”

Pratt pulled off with an obscene sound, lips red and wet, and his hands gripped down around the base of Jacob’s cock, warding off the pressure building in his stomach.

“I thought older men were supposed to last longer?”

“I had you wiggling in my lap for half an hour.”

“It wasn’t that long.”

“Christ, Pratt, please do something.”

Pratt did do something, bending his head again, removing his hand, and Jacob groaned, heat building in his stomach again, and he wondered with a thrill through his groin if Pratt was gonna let him come in his mouth.

“Pratt,” he growled out a warning through gritted teeth as he felt the pleasure in his gut turn white hot.

Pratt stayed, he took it, his hand pressing Jacob’s hips to the sheets as he swallowed, Jacob groaning above him, jolts going through his body, Pratt’s hold the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself.

Then he relaxed, his body settling back down into the sheets, the tension melting away as he came down, a pleasant warmth replacing the fire in his gut, and Pratt pulled off, reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

Jacob watched his lips, gleaming in the light of the room, and wondered if a mouthful of come was enough to mask the sweetness of his mouth. He endeavored to find out, pushing up despite his body’s protests, and bringing his face close enough to Pratt’s that he could smell the come on his breath, in his laugh as Pratt chuckled and pressed the rest of the way forward to confirm that yes, the sweetness was still there, buried under salt and bitterness.

One kiss was all he got before Pratt pushed him back and collapsed down onto the bed beside him, sighing into the sheets. Jacob looked down at him, a smile curling his lips and he reached out to lay a hand lightly on Pratt’s bare back.

Pratt said something, muffled by the mattress.

“What?”

Jacob leaned down, tilting his ear closer.

“I said I’m hungry.”

Jacob smiled.

“That right?”

Pratt nodded.

“You want the peanut butter or the Nutella?”

Pratt raised his hand slowly, still without looking at him, then let it drop back down to smack against Jacob’s thigh. Jacob smiled, skimming his fingers along Pratt’s skin.

“You want something from downstairs?”

Pratt nodded again, fingers squeezing around Jacob’s leg.

“Want anything in particular?”

Pratt shook his head, and Jacob pulled his hand away from Pratt’s back, scooting down the bed until he could stand, reaching for his underwear and jeans.

Maybe Pratt just needed a moment alone.

He pulled on the barest amount of clothing he could get away with in the Center, running his hands through his hair to flatten it down. It was longer than he usually kept it.

“Be back soon.”

“Jacob.”

Jacob looked back, a hand on the door handle, and Pratt had turned his head, watching him from the bed.

“Yeah?”

“You’re staying in here tonight.”

Jacob’s heart pricked and he nodded.

“Okay.”

He turned the handle and pulled the door open, the hallway dark.

“And Jacob-”

“Yeah?”

“-Tomorrow we get to work.”

Jacob nodded again.

“Yes, Pratt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet, sorry my dudes, this chapter was kinda late—I rewrote the ending a few times and I’ve caught up with the stuff that I already had written, so chapters may be a little slower! I’d say there’s three or four chapters left in this story, so I’d love it if you’d stick with me until the end.


	11. Chapter 11

Jacob was Pratt’s shadow for the next week, following silently behind him, always close, unbound with a knife strapped to his leg and his pistol at his side, a menacing force behind the Enforcer.

The repairs to the Center’s outer wall were completed, the hole the car explosion had caused was filled in, the window glass on the first floor was fully replaced, and Pratt was calm as every day he visited Maria in the infirmary.

“She’s the only lead we have,” Pratt had said as he and Jacob watched the new recruits, the prisoners from Fall’s End, jog laps around the Center.

Jacob had nodded, and every day he stayed outside the infirmary doors while Pratt talked to Maria in a quiet, friendly voice, laughing with her and giving her a smile that wasn’t cold, but certainly wasn’t genuine.

“Why not take her to the Projector Room?”

Jacob was now the one who hauled prisoners out of their cages and brought them upstairs to be tied down. The first time he had done it, snakes had writhed in his stomach, hissing, spiting, _jealous_, but as he leaned against the door, blocking anyone from entering, it was a different song that played inside, one Jacob didn’t know, and when Pratt called him back in, the prisoner, Scott Rivers, was still unconscious, the projector still moving through its nature images.

Oh, how that had made Jacob warm, the snakes morphing into butterflies, and he’d asked Pratt for a kiss, tasting Pratt’s laugh before he hauled Rivers back downstairs to be deposited back into the mud.

“That will take too long, The Deputy only gave me a month.”

Pratt didn’t need the bone deep loyalty that his training produced, he didn’t even need the Wolf’s Den, he just needed somewhere, anywhere, where he could strike because Jacob had a plan, one that Pratt had tweaked to his liking.

Jacob had whispered it to him as the sun came up the morning after The Deputy had come, an empty plate of sandwiches on the floor beside the bed, watching Pratt’s face in the dim light.

“I’ll go in as a defector, tell them you lied to me about Joseph, told me he was dead, and now I’ve come to help.”

“They’ll never believe that.”

“They will if we sell it right.”

They’d set up an attack, have the Followers swarm the militia, but Jacob would swoop in, blow up a few Follower trucks, shoot some legs and shoulders, send Pratt’s forces running with their tail between their legs, saving the day.

Pratt was unconvinced, staring at the ceiling.

“Eli’s smarter than that.”

“Joseph will vouch for me.”

“Will he?”

“Of course,” Jacob frowned.

“You’ve killed a lot of people, Jacob. Your brother might not like that.”

“It’s a war, he’ll understand.”

“Maybe. Either way it doesn’t matter, if Eli thinks you’re still under my command, he won’t let you near.”

Jacob was silent, doubt stirring in his stomach, and Pratt looked at him, sunlight just starting to properly filter in through the window, and he smiled before proposing the more critical part of the plan.

“You’re going to have to shoot me, Jacob.”

It felt wrong, it felt wrong just to hear the words, and a growl rose up in Jacob, rumbling through his chest, but Pratt’s smile just widened. He rolled onto his side so they were directly face to face, and he reached out to touch the bite mark he’d left on Jacob’s throat.

“Just a flesh wound, nothing major.”

“Bullets don’t tend to leave fuckin’ flesh wounds.”

“Thought you were a good shot?”

Jacob growled again, shaking his head.

“I won’t do that.”

Pratt’s eyes hardened.

“Yes, you will.”

All they needed was somewhere to strike, somewhere important enough for a large number of militia to witness Jacob’s betrayal, and so Pratt talked to Maria, every day, sometimes twice a day, pushing here, poking there, trying to get the smallest slip. When Maria did finally stumble, she didn’t even know it. Pratt had asked her about her brother, his interests, and without thinking about it, Maria had told him that he spent most of his time at the Whitetail Visitor’s Center with his friends, stealing moments with his girlfriend instead of doing his job, the horny bastard. Pratt had laughed with her, continuing on to ask her about her old high school (Go Cougars!) for a few minutes before slipping out into the hall where Jacob waited.

The look of pleasure on his face was almost vicious, and Jacob had thoroughly enjoyed being shoved up against a wall, Pratt pressing his face into his chest to hide his mirth as he laughed, hands twisting into Jacob’s jacket.

“We’ve got him,” Pratt looked up at Jacob with glowing eyes, “We’ve fucking got him.”

Jacob hadn’t had to ask for another kiss, Pratt pressing up to bite down on his lower lip, hands rising to pull his face down so Pratt could devour him. Others Followers saw them, and while there was Envy in their eyes, they shared in Pratt’s pleasure as he pulled away from Jacob and ordered preparation for the assault, his glow reflected in their eyes as they eagerly moved to spread his orders.

From that moment on, Jacob did not eat, did not shower, did not drink his fill. He stood out in front of the Chosen and at Pratt’s order, was beaten into the mud. Four days, Pratt said, four days and they would move, and everyday Jacob grew hungrier and his bruises grew older, the Chosen adding new ones every day.

He couldn’t stand before the Whitetail Militia, untouched, well fed, and clean.

The Chosen were the only ones told of Jacob’s role in the assault, the memory of two Judases burning fresh in Pratt’s mind, but even they were not told of Pratt’s role.

“Just one shot,” Pratt told him every night, leaning against the doorframe to Jacob’s room, looking at Jacob spread out naked on his twin beds, surveying his new bruises “You can’t hesitate.”

“I won’t,” Jacob told him, even as his stomach twisted, and Pratt always nodded, then closed the door, leaving him for the night.

_Protect, protect, protect._

On the last night before the assault, Jacob wanted to ask him to stay. He could feel a heaviness in his heart, an itching in his mind that promised a restless sleep as Pratt surveyed him, taking in the bruising on his body, the unruliness of his beard and hair, and the faint odor he admitted-- sweat and dirt and blood.

Jacob wanted Pratt to be there, to fill the empty space in his cold bed, to have someone to watch over when his mind woke him up, but he hesitated a moment too long, opened his mouth too late, and Pratt closed the door before he could ask, the words stuck painfully in his throat, and he pulled the blankets up over his body, holding his breath to hear, to listen to the sound of Pratt’s bedroom door opening and closing and the creaking of the floorboards as Pratt moved around. He closed his eyes, hearing the faint sound of rushing water as Pratt prepared for a shower, a luxury he had not had in days.

He knew he needed to sleep, he needed the energy, the steady hands, but sleep did not come easy, and Jacob was left staring at ceiling, awake well passed the sound of Pratt’s shower and his light clicking off. His eyes only shut when they started to ache, his mind finally starting to shut down, and when Jacob finally did sleep, he wished he hadn’t.

The desert was hot, the sand was rough, and Miller’s eyes were brown and full of terror as he started up at Jacob, mouth open in a silent scream.

This isn’t how it had happened— Jacob hadn’t seen Miller’s face when he’d killed him. He’d shoved him down, Miller’s wonky legs doing half the work for him, and Miller hadn’t struggled until the knife was in his back, his weakened body rebelling in the last moments of his life, and that’s when he’d screamed, the sound digging into Jacob’s brain, planting itself there, leaving deep roots.

But he could see Miller’s eyes now, his knife in his chest, not his back, and Miller’s hands were raised, his nails scratching and ripping at Jacob’s arms, and Jacob couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t breathe as his body shook, panic running through every vein in his body.

_Jacob,_ Miller choked,_ Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. Let me live, I wanna live._

It had been months since he’d dreamed of Miller, back before the church, months since he saw those brown eyes.

Blood was soaking Jacob’s hands, warm for a second before chilling, colder than ice, numbing his fingers, and then the knife was gone from his hands, gone from Miller’s chest, and Jacob was trying to stop the bleeding, his numb fingers pressed down over the wound in Miller’s chest, but blood kept streaming through his fingers, with no signs of slowing nor stopping. Miller’s body shook as he screamed, the whole world shaking with his fear, and Jacob screamed with him.

_I don’t wanna die, Jacob, please, please!_

“Shit,” Jacob gasped, pressing down harder, suddenly feeling fingers on his skin, Miller’s fingers curling around his throat, stopping his breath, breaking his bones.

Miller choked out Jacob’s name, again and again, growing weaker under him, the desert growing colder, turning to tundra around him.

_Jacob, Jacob, Jacob._

“Jacob.”

Jacob’s eyes opened, and there was quiet—no screaming, no begging—and there were soft sheets instead of rough sand pressed against his skin, and a different pair of brown eyes were staring down into him, into his bared soul, open and vulnerable in the hour before dawn.

Pratt was leaning over him, one knee pressed down into the bed while the other foot remained on the ground, a hand half raised like he’d been moments away from shaking Jacob awake, and for a moment Jacob wanted nothing more than for him to leave, to not have to look at him face, not look into those eyes, eyes that by the end of the day might be as soulless and sightless as Miller’s._ Pratt, dead, because of me._

The feeling lasted barely a second, a gruesome feeling, that pushed all the air from his lungs, but when he breathed it back in, the scent of Pratt was on his tongue and he calmed. He wanted nothing more than to have him here, to touch him, to hear his voice.

“Pratt,” his voice was rough, and his throat hurt.

“You were yelling,” Pratt whispered, and Jacob sat up, reaching up to touch his throat, to dispel the ghost of Miller’s hands there.

“I could hear you from my room.”

“Bad dream,” Jacob’s fingers touched against the skin where Pratt had bitten him, the punctures scabbed over and hard, and he pulled in another shaky breath.

“You’re shaking.”

He was, wasn’t he? Fuck.

Pratt’s hand touched his shoulder, sliding over the scarred skin, then gripping, hard, as if Jacob’s trembles could be so easily stopped if Pratt just held him in place.

“Bad dream,” Jacob repeated, trying to give Pratt a smile, but it came out twisted, “Also, it’s fucking freezing.”

“You didn’t have to sleep naked,” Pratt looked him over, most of his upper half exposed to the early morning cold. Jacob hadn’t put any of his clothes back on after Pratt had inspected his bruises, and the sweat his nightmare had worked up was cooling on his skin, adding a new layer to his shiver.

“I like sleeping naked.”

“I’m sure your cellblock mates outside loved that.”

Jacob’s smile was a little more successful this time, the warmth from Pratt’s hand soaking into his skin, beginning to loosen the knots in his stomach, to quiet his mind.

“How are you always so warm?”

“Because I wear clothes.”

“A shame.”

Pratt’s hand on his shoulders moved to smack against his chest, and Jacob laughed, catching sight of Pratt’s smile before he was biting his lip to hide it.

God, how was he going to leave him?

That thought sobered him, his laughter fading, and Pratt looked into his eyes again. There was a gentleness on his face that Jacob had never seen before.

“If I stay with you for these last few hours, can I trust you to keep your hands to yourself?”

Jacob’s heart swelled, and in answer, he scooted to the side, moving onto the other side of the two twin beds he’d shoved together and tucking his hands behind his head, freeing up more than enough space for Pratt.

Pratt reached out and fluffed Jacob’s abandoned pillow into a shape not resembling a pancake and then laid down, settling onto his back, and Jacob pushed his blankets off, spreading them out over Pratt with a few pats.

“I thought you were cold?” Pratt watched him, seemingly unbothered by Jacob’s lack of showering.

“I can put some clothes on.”

“No, I like the view.”

Pratt’s lip twitched and warmth spread through Jacob even as the cold fought to chill him, and he felt a blush rise in his cheeks. He stretched out next to Pratt, returning his arms to behind his head, and he tightened his core, the muscles of his legs flexing.

Pratt snorted, but his eyes followed the show, taking in Jacob’s body and fuck was there a lot to take in.

“Showing off?”

“Just stretching. Why, see something you like?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

That gentleness was back, and Jacob shuddered, feeling the words tickle up his spine, keeping the cold at bay, and his cock twitched, exposed and obvious, and he heard Pratt hum, low and quiet, before he reached out in the low light.

Jacob kept still as he felt a hand run along his arm, from his wrist up, fingers squeezing his bicep before moving down to his chest. The touch was warm, as it always was, and the scars and burns littering Jacob’s skin didn’t bother Pratt as he touched where he wanted, tracing a few of the scars, letting his nails skim down the grooves, in no hurry at all. His fingers touched the hair on Jacob’s naval, the touch growing lighter as he traveled down, stopping short of his cock and making his way back up.

“Mine, huh?” Pratt murmured, and Jacob watched him, watching Pratt’s eyes follow the path of his fingers, knowing that Pratt could feel the thumping of his heart, could read the contentment in every line of his body.

Pratt met his eyes for just a moment, brown on blue, then he looked back at Jacob’s chest, his fingers tracing from freckle to freckle.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Jacob closed his eyes, but that brought images of Miller back to him, bloody and wild, and he opened them just as fast, willing his body to stay calm under Pratt’s touch.

“I was dreaming about Miller,” he answered, honest, and Pratt’s fingers stopped, just a moment of pause, before they continued their game of connects the dots.

“I already told you everything that happened, he doesn’t matter anymore” Jacob swallowed, remembering Pratt’s touch in the cabin, the relief he’d felt, “But what we’re doing tomorrow, it’s just…”

He couldn’t quite finish, and Pratt hummed again before asking Jacob to turn over. He did so, folding his arms under his pillow and turning his head to watch Pratt’s face as his hand ran over the scars on Jacob’s back, much older than the rest. Jacob was hard, but the ache was just a warm pull in his gut, making ever touch tingle, sending little lines of electricity down his body, at odds with the darker feelings stirring in his chest, and he closed his eyes again, trying to focus on the warmth.

“Are you afraid?” Pratt asked in the quiet of the room, voice soft, just a question, and Jacob answered in the same way, voice calm, even if his heart wasn’t.

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” Pratt’s fingers dipped lower, and Jacob pressed his face into the pillow, the warmth in his gut radiating down his legs and up through his chest.

“Pratt,” he murmured, feeling his cheeks spread, and he shifted his legs, parting them further to make it easier.

“Yeah?”

“What happens if you die tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll be dead, and I imagine you won’t be far behind me.”

The sentiment was strangely comforting, but Jacob still needed to ask, “You will be okay, yeah?”

“Yes,” Pratt whispered, and Jacob wanted to stay there with him, forever, “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

Jacob didn’t want to think about what would happen tomorrow, the shot he would take, the things that could go wrong.

He felt a finger press gently against his opening, and he shuddered, his toes curling.

He felt the bed shift as Pratt moved, heard the sound of a drawer opening then closing, then cool gel dripped down over Pratt’s fingers. Pratt spread it around, his finger teasing at Jacob’s entrance and Jacob’s hips pressed back, Pratt’s name whispered into the pillow.

Pratt pressed a finger in and Jacob sighed, giving his hips a slow rock, pressing back against Pratt’s finger before dragging his cock forward against the bed.

“I trust you, Jacob. You’ll do well tomorrow.”

Another finger slipped in, stretching Jacob apart, and he moaned, low and long.

“And when you’re done, you’ll come back.”

Jacob rocked back, keeping the movements slow, savoring the feeling, the coiling warmth in his gut, Pratt’s voice, his touch.

“Come right back to me.”

Jacob whined as Pratt crooked his fingers and he could feel the bedsheets growing wetter and wetter under his cock.

“I will,” he panted into the pillow, pushing back onto Pratt’s fingers, taking them as deep as he could, like Pratt’s fingers could reach his heart if he tried hard enough, “Right back to you.”

A third finger joined the other two, and Jacob shuddered, muscles tensing, and come drippled out of his cock, Pratt pressing in deep as his whole body shook.

“I,” Jacob opened his mouth, voice muffled by the pillow “fuck- I, _Pratt_.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Pratt hushed him, and Jacob sighed as he pulled his fingers free, heat spreading through his muscles as he relaxed, as the aches of his body burned.

Pratt touched his shoulder and Jacob rolled, moving half onto Pratt’s bed so he wasn’t lying in his sticky mess, and he opened his eyes to look into Pratt’s.

They were so close, faces a breath apart, and Jacob leaned forward to kiss him, slow and deep, and Pratt allowed it, his hand taking its place on Jacob’s cheek as he pressed forward against him, tasting as sweet as ever.

“Can I hold you?” Jacob asked when Pratt pulled back, breaking the kiss with a quiet, content sigh.

Pratt didn’t answer, but he did shift the blankets, covering Jacob with warmth again, and he scooted just a bit closer until their sides were touching, and a hand touched Jacob’s.

Jacob spreads his fingers, letting thin, smaller ones interlace with his and he watched Pratt close his eyes, face softening as he relaxed.

“We have a few more hours,” he murmured, and Jacob smiled, “Go to sleep.”

Jacob did, dreamless.

Pratt was gone with Jacob woke again, the knots back in his stomach and his hand left to lie in between where they’d slept. Jacob hadn’t dreamed, but his heart grew heavy as he sat up.

Where Pratt’s body had been was a chain with a familiar furry attachment, Jacob’s Luck, his rabbit foot, left where he’d find it, and Jacob picked it up, letting it dangle in front of his face.

He’d need it today.

He pulled the chain over his head, feeling the fur rest against his chest, and he rose out of the bed. The room felt too small, too silent as he dressed, like the world outside knew what was happening today and was holding its breath. By the end of the day, Pratt could be dead and Jacob could be alive (worst case scenario), or they could both be dead (better), or Pratt could be alive and Jacob could be dead (still not great, but Jacob would take it), or they could both be alive (ideal).

He dressed slowly, pulling his jacket on, fingers rubbing over the familiar fabric, and he secured the weapon holsters on his leg and hip, sliding his knife into place. It was cold, but Jacob left his coat in the room with his pistol—he’d get them both when he left, but for now, he went to find Pratt.

He didn’t have to go far. Pratt wasn’t in his room, but he was next door, in the Projector Room. He was standing by the windows, a thick jacket pulled on over his uniform and his eyes on the Followers below, watching them prepare the trucks.

Jacob watched him for a moment, feeling the knots in his stomach tighten and twist, the empty holster at his hip suddenly feeling very heavy in the room that held so many memories for them.

“Come here.”

Pratt didn’t need to look to know it was him, and his words drew Jacob forward. Pratt didn’t turn as he approached, keeping his eyes on his Followers, but he reached his hands out behind him, fingers spread wide, and Jacob reached to take them, letting Pratt pull him forward until he was pressed against Pratt’s back, his arms circling Pratt’s body and coming to rest on his stomach, fingers interlaced with Pratt’s.

He leaned down to press his face into Pratt’s hair, inhaling deeply, filling his lungs with Pratt’s scent again as Pratt hummed, his thumbs stroking over Jacob’s fingers.

“Did you find my gift?”

“Yeah, although I would have preferred to have found you.”

“Hmm, I had work to do, but I figured you could use a little luck today.”

“As could you,” Jacob’s fingers tightened around Pratt’s, “Maybe you should keep it for now.”

“Don’t fuck up and I won’t need luck.”

The words were light, but Jacob could feel Pratt growing more tense in his arms, his body betraying his nerves, and Jacob hugged him tighter, pressing Pratt against him. Pratt had been braver in the dark, telling Jacob he’d do well, but the light of day was casting doubts.

“If I’m good will I get my tags back too?” he tried to echo Pratt’s voice, aiming for a teasing tone, anything to ease the tension, and he felt more than heard Pratt chuckle.

Pratt’s hand moved, leading one of his up, brushing it along the rough exterior of his jacket until he reached the zipper. Pratt pulled it down a few inches, then pressed Jacob’s hand into the space it created, down below his uniform, and Jacob’s fingers touched metal that had been warmed by Pratt’s skin. His fingers moved, tracing down the metal, feeling familiar inscriptions that he would have known anywhere, and his fingers curled around his dog tags.

“Pratt,” Jacob’s heart ached.

“Never been too into necklaces, but these are nice.”

“You gonna keep `em warm for me while I’m gone?”

“I was going to say you can take them with you if you want.”

“No,” Jacob’s thumb brushed against the skin below the tags and he felt Pratt shiver against him, “no, I think they’re fine right where they are.”

Pratt tilted his head back, pressing it against Jacob’s shoulder, and Jacob could see the tags now, nestled beneath Pratt’s uniform, Jacob’s fingers curled around the metal while Pratt’s hand covered him. It warmed him, loosening the knots in his stomach, and he pressed a kiss to Pratt’s forehead, closing his eyes as he listened to Pratt’s sigh.

“It will be all right,” Pratt let go of the hand on his stomach and reached up to touch Jacob’s cheek, “Just don’t let them get inside your head. They’ll try to lie to you, try to test you, but just think of me, okay? Remember I’ll be waiting for you.”

Jacob nodded.

“I won’t keep you waiting long.”

Pratt smiled.

“Good.”

They stayed there until they couldn’t, until the sun was higher in the sky and the trucks below were ready, and Pratt turned in Jacob’s arms to kiss him one last time, pulling Jacob down, pressing sweetness into his mouth before they parted, Pratt’s hands releasing him, leaving him cold.

Jacob was left alone, taking Pratt’s spot at the window as he waited, watching Pratt emerge below, watching him speak to the Followers, who nodded along, determined faces all around, before he moved to a Chosen truck and slid into the driver’s seat. Jacob watched him leave, the rest of the trucks falling along behind him, then he stepped away from the window and went to get his coat and his gun.

He had half an hour to get to the Visitor’s Center; Pratt had left first to gather more troops at the Grand View Hotel, giving Jacob the time he needed to get to the Visitor’s Center without Followers assistance, in case there were any sharp eyes on the roads.

With his gun at his hip and his coat keeping out the cold, he made his way to the back of the Center, his boots crunching on snow, and he took a semi-automatic rifle from a waiting crate, slinging it over his back. He continued on until he reached the back wall, then set about climbing it. He dropped down on the other side, and began to move south, sticking to the trees best he could until he was well away from the Center, then he moved nearer to the road, reaching it where it met the Moccasin River. He crossed the bridge and began searching for an abandoned car.

He stirred clear of the Lansdowne Airstrip where he knew Pratt had men posted, instead following the river side of the road. The first car he found, a 2008 Kimberlite Darrala, had two out of four tires blown out and most of the front of it was busted in, but there was a small bag of explosives in the back seat and he grabbed it before moving on, giving the FANG Center a wide birth as the giant Cheeseburger the bear sign came into view above the trees. The second car he found, a 2004 Hayai Zip-R, was sat outside the Golden Valley gas station looking mostly intact with keys still in the ignition. There was blood splattered across the dashboard and the passenger seat, but no bodies to be seen.

Jacob got into the car, which took a few tries to start, engine stuttering in the cold as Jacob twisted the keys, but when it did finally roar to life, everything seemed functional, except the heater, which just blasted foul smelling, cold air into his face until he turned it off. He tossed the bag of explosives and his semi-automatic into the passenger seat, then steered the car onto the road, moving west. It’d take him fifteen minutes to get close; he was pretty much on schedule, aiming to let Pratt arrive first to wreck a little havoc so there was actually something for him to swoop in and stop.

He crossed over the Moccassin again, driving through the North Park Entrance, one of the Followers’ main roadblocks, but it was empty today, on Pratt’s orders, the guards relocated to the Ranger Station. Jacob took a right after the entrance, turning on to the road that would take him the long way around to the Visitor’s Center so he could avoid making contact with the Ranger Station and its beefed up security. The Station is where Pratt was planning for the Followers to retreat to, and where, Jacob felt sick, Pratt would receive medical attention.

Not getting himself shot and not killing Pratt were the two biggest obstacles he’d be facing—the Chosen knew that he’d be showing up, that the Followers were to start retreating once he’d done enough damage, but Jacob would have to be wary of the Whitetails until they saw he was here to help, and once he took his shot at Pratt, even the Chosen would be howling for his blood.

He gritted his teeth.

_This can’t go wrong, it can’t._

The route he was taking was longer, but it also allowed him to get a glimpse of the Grand View Hotel as he drove by—it was mostly empty of people and trucks; Pratt was already on the move heading for the Visitor’s Center. It was almost show time.

A mile from the Visitor’s Center he heard the first bout of gunfire, and soon after came the blaring sound of an alarm as the Whitetails called for aid. Pratt and him had debated about cutting the alarms—a sloppy attack certainly wasn’t the norm for Pratt, and they didn’t want to stir up any suspicion – but Jacob would need help pushing the Followers back if this was gonna be believable, he wasn’t that fucking good. So the alarms had been left and Jacob had a lie prepared in the back of his mind, just in case, something about bad info, and he now had only a few minutes to get in there and put on his performance.

The engine of his car roared as he pressed pedal to metal, pushing it to go faster, and he shot down the road, driving passed the destroyed “ROAD CLOSED No Not Block Gate” signs and the there in mentioned gate. The Followers’ vehicles came into view as he came up the road and he had half a mind to just fucking crash into them, enter in style, but he wasn’t looking to have a broken neck, so he screeched to a halt and entered with a boom instead when he pulled a grenade from the bag on the passenger seat and lobbed it at an empty Follower truck.

The car exploded in a burst of flame as Jacob threw open the door to his car and reached for the semi-automatic. He lit the remaining cars up, some of them empty, some of them not, with Followers quickly ducking down. He knew he hit some of them, he knew some Followers were going to die by his hand today, but he could live with that, so long as Pratt wasn’t one of them.

He could see the Whitetails as he ran closer, all of them ducked behind cover or in the buildings of the Visitor’s Center, shooting back the best they could. Jacob moved at a diagonal, cutting off his fire as he moved for cover before the Followers returned fire, bullets whizzing past him and into the structure he dove behind.

He didn’t know how much the Whitetails knew about what he’d done at the Lumber Mill-- they hadn’t left any survivors expect for Jess Black-- or how much they knew about his relationship with Pratt and the people he’d killed on the attack on the Center. So much of this plan was down to chance, was down to other individuals making choices out of Jacob’s control, but Eli needed to be dealt with and they were on a ticking clock.

The first Whitetail to see Jacob was a middle aged man with an American bandana tied around his head, keeping thick, black hair out of his eyes, and he looked gob smacked for a moment as he watched Jacob open fire at the Followers.

“JACOB SEED?” he called out over the noise of the fight.

Well, they certainly knew who he was.

“HERE TO HELP!” Jacob called back, launching another grenade out from his cover, exploding a truck with two Followers still on top of it, manning the back gun.

The Whitetail didn’t shoot him, which was a good sign, and so Jacob moved closer until he joined the man behind a jersey barrier, taking a moment to reload.

“Shit, we thought for sure you’d be dead or something,” the man looked at Jacob like he was a ghost, “You got out?”

_They don’t know about the Mill._

“Yeah, here to help my brother,” Jacob’s words got out just before there was another explosion and both of them had to curl up, arms over their heads as shrapnel flew in all directions, metal and wood digging into Jacob’s arms.

“Well,” the man gave him a wide smile when they could look up again, “Thank the Lord.”

One Whitetail was not the army, but it was a good start, and Jacob remained with the man until he took a bullet to the forehead, blood spraying over Jacob as the Whitetail hit the ground, and in the next moment Jacob had shot the sniper down—a Chosen in crimson red.

More Whitetails were seeing him now, seeing him gun down Followers, leaving some just bleeding, others clearly dead, and when a roar from the road announced the arrival of Resistance reinforcements, Jacob heard a voice call for retreat.

Jacob followed the voice right to Pratt, who was near the entrance to the Whitetail hiking trail, two Chosen flanking him, well out of the main fight, but in a good position for the two Chosen to snipe down Whitetail after Whitetail like the deer they were.

Jacob rose as much as he dared, keeping a clear line of sight on Pratt, who looked at him for half a second, although it felt like an hour, and Jacob felt himself falter, his knees going weak.

_No. No. No._

Pratt was moving for the remaining trucks, his escort switching their sniper rifles out for faster guns, shooting at the Whitetails who tried to pop up to take a shot, paying Jacob no mind.

Jacob dropped the semi-automatic and drew his pistol, his hands shaking, and the touch of the red metal was like ice, burning his fingers with cold, and he felt for a moment like he was underwater, that there was no air, that his body was straining to move, a voice whispering “no, _no_, **_no,_**” but then he pushed it all down with the thought of _Pratt, Pratt, Pratt._ He didn’t have time for Weakness, he needed to be good, he needed to be perfect.

_Every Whitetail in the world better fucking see this_, he thought, gritting his teeth, taking aim, his eyes clear, and he inhaled, slowly, filling his lungs with air, steading his fingers.

In through the nose.

_Pratt_.

Out through the mouth.

_Pratt._

He fired.

The shot was barely even audible in the mess of the attack, over the shouts and assault rifles, but it was the loudest sound Jacob had ever heard, and he watched, almost in slow motion, as Pratt’s body jolt, struck, and he watched Pratt fall, a scream building in his throat that he had to choke down, but spilled out of the two Chosen instead, who screamed out Pratt’s name, a sound of raw fear and anger, and time snapped back to reality as Jacob was hit before he’d even lowered the gun.

The bullet tore through his leg, a burst of agony knocking the air from his lungs, but it was a blessing in disguise as the bullet forced him down to one knee just as ten more shot through the air where his head had been a moment before.

He hunkered down as he became the sole target of every Follower in the vicinity, every one of them screaming Pratt’s name as they fired. It was a single line of noise, crescendoing until it shook Jacob’s skull, their fear and anger rattling his teeth, gripping his throat, as solid as Miller’s hands.

Chunks of concrete flew from his jersey barrier as the Followers attempted to drill a hole through it, single minded in their attempts to reach him. Some of them tried to rush forward, but were gunned down by the Whitetail reinforcements that crashed into their remaining trucks, and Jacob was suddenly afraid that it didn’t matter if Pratt survived his shot if the Followers couldn’t get away.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and his head jerked up. A Whitetail had reached him, a boy who looked young enough to still be in high school with two braids hanging down over his shoulders and a pair of earrings swinging from his ears, and he pulled at Jacob’s shoulder.

“Holy shit, holy shit, you shot him! Come on, we gotta move!”

The trucks were blocking the Followers fire for a few precious seconds and in that time Jacob ran, his leg throbbing, screaming at him, but he forced his weight down on it, gritting his teeth and following the young Whitetail, who was cursing loudly as they ran, a mix of “holy fucking shit they’re pissed!” and “oh my fucking god, you shot Staci fucking Pratt!” and just “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

They dove behind new cover, safer amongst the ranks of Whitetails, and Jacob watched as some of the Chosen pulled themselves the fuck together and, furious as they were, knew they were done. With metal screeching and engines roaring, a few cars and trucks were able to free themselves, slamming through the Resistance’s blockage and speeding off down the road.

Pratt had to be in one of them, he had to be.

The Followers that hadn’t escaped were shot down, and those that the Whitetails tried to corner for questioning either fought back until they died or put a bullet in their own heads before the militia could get a solid hold on them.

Things didn’t go silent like they had after the attack on the Center—Staci Pratt had been shot and Jacob Seed was back from the fucking dead and they’d just held off a substantial attack by the Followers, _hoo-fucking-rah_. There were cheers, yelling, and smacks on the backs all around. Jacob was sure he’d have fresh bruises just from that as he was thumped on the back, the chest, the shoulders, the militia oblivious to the snakes twisting in Jacob’s stomach as he thought of Pratt and the way he’d gone down.

_Fuck_, he thought, **_FUCK_**_._

Another hand landed on his shoulder, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled up, an older, silver haired woman slinging Jacob’s arm over her shoulder as she helped to keep the weight off Jacob’s injured leg, and he was limped through the Visitor’s Center and sat down on a crate by a couple of intact vans.

He was told to wait there, as if he had somewhere else to be, and he watched the ground as people moved around him, loading up some of the vans, splitting off into groups, talking over each other in a constant buzz of noise.

Then that boy was back, 18 if Jacob had to guess, and he seemed a bit hesitant, a cloth bag in his hands.

“Uh, Mr.Seed, sir.”

“Jacob.”

“Jacob,” the boy gave him a nervous smile, caught between being excited to talk to him and trying to keep his cool, “Uh, I radioed Eli, told him what happened, told him about you. He says he wants to meet with you, asked me to bring you back with me.”

“I’d like to see Eli too.”

“Yeah,” the boy’s smile grew more nervous, “Only thing is, our base is kinda of a secret, and uh, you’ve been gone a while—not that I don’t trust you, holy shit, I mean I saw what you did—but Eli wants me to blindfold for the drive to the Wolf’s Den… if you don’t mind.”

The Wolf’s Den, Eli’s notorious little hide out—they were gonna bring him right where he needed to be.

“Whatever, kid, just get me there.”

The kid offered out the bag and Jacob sighed, taking it and getting up with a grunt, his leg begging him to sit back down.

The boy led him to one of the vans, jumping into the driver’s seat and directing Jacob to the passenger side. There were two others, lying down in the back of the van, both bleeding, and Jacob looked them over before he pulled the bag over his head.

“Ready?” the kid asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sweet,” the van rumbled to life under them, and almost immediately music blasted, making Jacob jump and grit his teeth.

“Sorrrrrry,” the boy quickly turned it down, “just, uh, use to riding by myself. King Koyote, good, yeah? Not like the shit The Deputy has playing.”

Jacob didn’t know what shit The Deputy had playing, and he didn’t much care. He just gave a shrug, but the boy persisted.

“You like music?”

“We really don’t have to talk.”

“Okay, ha, just silence and some good old tunes, can do.”

Jacob doubted that, and sure enough the boy kept talking to him, content to keep up both ends of the conversation as they drove. Jacob leaned his head back against the seat, his leg throbbing, and just tried to not think too much, prepared for a long drive.

Then the kid stopped the truck, cutting the engine, the first song having barely ended, and Jacob had to choke back a laugh. They were there? They had been that fucking close to the Den? That _fucking_ close?

Jacob heard a door open and close, the van jolting at the movement, then his door was opened and he was being guided out.

“Careful now, it’s a bit steep, just a bit of walking, then some stairs. Almost there.”

Wherever they were walking was not bullet leg friendly, and Jacob almost fell about five times, his fingers digging into the Whitetail’s shoulder hard enough to bruise, but the kid didn’t complain, just let out a couple of “cool, cool, ow, almost there, ow, no problem”s until suddenly his boots clanged onto metal and it grew darker as he descended down underground.

A few steps down, the bag was pulled off his head, and Jacob could see they were climbing down into a bunker, leaving sunlight behind them, and he winced with every step, but it was worth it when he got to the bottom.

Jacob had met Eli Palmer many times before. They had worked together at the Lumber Mill, and Jacob had seen him at the Veteran’s Center a few times, when times were simpler and Eli’s beard was shorter. Eli was one of the few people in Hope County that he’d actually made any kind of effort to talk to, had found him practical and down to earth, unbroken by his experiences abroad but not bursting with red blooded American pride either. A little too trusting for Jacob’s tastes, but that would work in his favor now.

Eli looked older now, sitting in the room before Jacob, seated in front of a large array of screens, black beard colored with streaks of gray, and the wrinkles around his eyes were deeper than Jacob remembered, but the eyes they circled were still sharp, intelligent, and, most importantly of all, warm.

“Jacob!” Eli stood up, relief plain in his voice, and he rounded the table to offer out a hand “Wheaty radioed me, shit, we thought you were dead!”

“Eli,” Jacob took the hand, giving it a firm shake, “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, although you’ve looked better.”

“Felt better too. My brother here?”

_Make this about Joseph._

“Joseph? He’s down at the Elk Lodge, but he’ll sure as hell want to see you.”

“I’ll go to him then.”

“You just shot Staci Pratt in broad fuckin’ daylight, if you pop your head above ground it’ll get blown right off. I’ll call the Lodge, let Joseph know you’re here.”

Jacob grunted, thinking of Pratt, and tried not to look as sick as he felt. Eli had turned away, moving toward the coms under the cameras, and a woman who had been lurking in the corner stepped up, and Jacob knew instantly that he was in the presence of a fellow predator.

“You’ve been gone a hell of a long time, Seed.”

“I know you?”

“Tammy Barnes,” she looked him up and down, looking for cracks, “And I know firsthand what Pratt’s training does in the first month, let alone four. I don’t believe this shit for a second.”

“Tammy, I saw it with my own eyes,” the kid, Wheaty, spoke up from beside Jacob, “he took a shot right at Pratt, saw Pratt go down. You should have seen how the Chosen reacted!”

“Pratt dead?”

“I don’t know-“

“Then what he did doesn’t mean shit,” Tammy glowered at Jacob, who glowered right back, his fingers flexing at his sides, the answering pain reminding him of the shrapnel lodged in his skin.

“Where you been for four months, huh? Just suddenly get the urge to stretch your legs?”

“I thought Joseph was dead, figured there was nothing fucking left for me.”

“And how’d you get out, huh? Pratt just let you stroll around?”

“Tammy enough!” Eli put down the radio receiver, “The man just wants to see his brother, okay? He saved a lot of lives today and might just have solved half our problems by killing Pratt.”

“We can’t just trust him, Eli! I’ve seen what Pratt can do to people, you haven’t,” Tammy jabbed a finger at Jacob, glaring at Eli, “Gets in their head, makes ‘em willin’ to do anything to please him. I don’t care what he did, we can’t trust him.”

“He’s staying, that’s final.”

Tammy ground her teeth, glaring at Eli before sending Jacob one last “I’ve got my fucking eye on you” look and leaving the room, cursing under her breath.

Wheaty gave Jacob a shrug and Eli offered an apologetic look.

“Sorry about her,” Eli stepped forward again, “Her husband was lost to Pratt almost half a year ago, before all this shit really hit the fan.”

“He dead?”

“Dunno, probably.”

Jacob nodded, but he didn’t offer any sympathy, not looking to oversell his bit, and Eli gave him another glance over.

“You really do look rough, we should get a medic to take a look at you.”

Jacob shrugged, “I’ve had worse. Joseph?”

“I radioed down to the Lodge,” Eli reached out to pat the radio, “Joseph wasn’t there, but they’ll pass the message along. Knowing your brother, he’ll be here by sundown.”

Jacob wasn’t so sure, Joseph was never one to act rashly, but he just gave another nod and let Eli led him through the bunker to the live-in medic to see about his leg and the shrapnel and wood embedded in his arms. As Jacob walked through the bunker, he peered around, taking in Wheaty’s radio set up, the sleeping quarters, and the armory. A well-stocked place and well hidden, it was no wonder Pratt hadn’t found it yet.

He sat down with a grunt with the medic, who began cutting open his jeans to get at the bullet wound.

“You think Pratt’s dead?” Eli asked, sitting down next to him.

“If he is, you’re gonna have a hoard of pissed off Followers coming your way,” Jacob gritted his teeth as the fabric of his jeans was pulled away, tearing the bits of dried blood that glued it there.

“Yeah, but that ain’t anything new,” Eli chuckled, resting back against the couch, “and this time it won’t be my head they’re gunning for.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been one for making friends.”

Eli laughed, and Jacob couldn’t help a smile, pushing away his thoughts of Pratt bleeding and hurt—he was alive, he had to be, Jacob hadn’t killed him.

His smile turned to a teeth gritted grimace as the bullet was pulled from his leg, no numbing agent to spare, and the medic splashed disinfectant over the wound before starting to wipe the blood away. As she did, the bruises the Chosen had left on his legs became visible.

“How are you, Jacob, really?” Eli asked, eyes on Jacob’s legs, “Like Tammy said, you were in there for months.”

Jacob had thought a lot about what he would tell Eli, what kind of story he could spin, what would be believable and what they would sniff out instantly as horseshit. He’d thought of weaving a tale of months of torture and starvation, but the Whitetails knew that wasn’t Pratt style and Jacob knew the best lies were based in the truth.

“Not really sure, Eli,” Jacob sighed, “I got starved for half a month, got smacked around a lot ‘cause I never shut up, but then Pratt started doin’ this music thing, had me tied to a chair and shit.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard about that, the harmonica.”

“Yeah, it was weird, made me feel things, put Pratt’s voice in my head, tellin’ me to obey, protect, all that shit, and when Pratt told me Joseph was dead, I don’t know,” Jacob frowned, shaking his head, eyes on his leg as the medic began to wrap up the wound, “Part of me stopped fighting, there wasn’t any point. I played Pratt’s little game, even had me feelin’ good for a while.”

Eli nodded like he’d heard it before, “Then you heard about Joseph?”

“Yeah, overheard some of the Chosen talking about him, about the stuff he’s been up to in the Henbane region, and fuck, it was like being dunked into ice cold water and I was awake for the first time in months, felt so fucking stupid.”

“Pratt’s good at makin’ people believe things,” Eli sounded sympathetic, nodding along to Jacob’s words, “You aren’t the first person this has happened to. How’d you get out?”

“Ironically, I got out ‘cause of Pratt,” Jacob forced out a chuckle, “I started misbehaving, pickin’ fights, so he threw me back into a cage outside. When they left for the raid today, I saw a chance and I took it, slammed a guard against the bars, took a key, got the hell out of there.”

“And you came to help?”

“Gonna be honest, didn’t really do it for you, just figured your lot would know where Joseph was.”

Eli smiled again, “Yeah, well, either way we appreciate the help. Don’t worry about Tammy or any of the others, they’ll come ‘round.”

Jacob shrugged.

“I’m just here for my brother, don’t give a fuck what she thinks.”

“That’s the spirit,” Eli clapped him on the shoulder, Jacob wincing, and he push himself up from the couch, nodding down at Jacob’s shrapnel situation, “I’ll leave you to it, I’ll let you know if we hear anything from Joseph. Also, I’ll send along some food, bet you’re hungry.”

Jacob returned the nod, fucking starving, and watched Eli leave, feeling on edge, but safe enough—Eli was a surprisingly trusting person in a dishonest world, and maybe once upon a time, they could have been friends.

_Doesn’t matter now._

Jacob looked down at his arms.

_Pratt is waiting for me._

_…but Joseph…_

He frowned.

Tammy, Wheaty, Eli… none of them mattered in the grand scheme of things because none of them knew fuck all about him. It was Joseph, his brother, who would make him choke on his lies, his eyes drawing the truth out of Jacob as they so often had even when they were children.

The medic secured the bandages, content to keep quiet as she worked and letting Jacob get lost in his thoughts.

If it came down to it, would he be able to hurt Joseph?

His hands curled into fists, pain flaring up.

_No, Joseph is different_.

The medic moved onto his arms, Jacob forcing his muscles to relax, wincing as she began to pull metal and wood from his skin.

Jacob would just have to wait and see, see how Joseph’s presence would affect him. Pratt was still a heavy presence in his mind, a voice whispering in his ear, but here, underground, miles away, it seemed to already be growing quieter.

He wished he had something of Pratt’s, something like his dog tags around Pratt’s neck, to ground him. The rabbit’s foot wasn’t quite enough, it was Jacob’s and it wasn’t important to Pratt, but Jacob reached up to pull it out of his shirt, brushing fingers along the soft fur.

Pratt would be at the Ranger Station by now, getting the bullet pulled out of him, everyone in a panic. Would Joey come to see him? The Deputy? Jacob hoped so, that Pratt would have his family close while Jacob was away.

The medic reached up to pull Jacob’s hand away from the rabbit’s foot, to get at the metal in his arm, and Jacob took a deep breath.

He had a job to do.

Pratt was waiting for him.

Jacob wouldn’t make him wait long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!  
Hope y'all are ready for some Joseph.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s December in this story and it’s Montana and there should probably already be snow on the ground—let’s just call it a late snow fall. Long chapter ahead, yeet.

As Jacob had predicted, Joseph didn’t come that night. In fact, he was a no show for the first three days. That was three days of opportunities, chances to kill Eli coming and going, of Jacob gritting his teeth, knowing it would be smarter to kill Eli before Joseph arrived, of Pratt’s voice in his head telling him to just fucking do it, but not being able to pass on the gift of seeing his brother. Pratt had always said his family was the most important thing to him and he’d always been right. Even as Pratt slowly eased himself ahead of Jacob’s siblings, taking front and center in Jacob’s mind, Jacob still delayed carrying out his orders, waiting to see Joseph.

He was building trust, he told himself, making Eli relax, letting his leg heal, making himself useful, telling Eli what he knew about Pratt’s defenses without giving too much away and telling him about Jess Black and her location in the Valley, a piece of information Pratt had been perfectly willing to give up.

_ “He’ll never get past Joey.” _

But the more Eli seemed to relax, to trust him, the more Tammy’s eyes watched him, looking for cracks, for slip ups. She would never trust him, that was clear, but Jacob didn’t need her to trust him, hell, she’d probably end up dead next to Eli at the end of all this, but he did need to be able to escape at the end of all this and Tammy casting doubt into the minds of the Whitetails around him was not going to help his cause. So he tried to keep his mouth shut around her, not giving her anything and returning her glares as she asked him about Pratt, then asked some more stuff about Pratt, and then asked, oh, here’s something new, even more about Pratt.

“You expect me to believe you don’t know more than you’re tellin’?” she exploded at him on the second day, eyes digging into his, and he just scowled at her, keeping silent.

She’d tried insulting Pratt, trying to get a rise out of him like she did with her captured Followers, the ones in her kiddy pool, but it just made her angrier when he didn’t rise to the bait.

She was the one that ended up telling him that Pratt was definitely alive, had been speaking to his Followers on the radio the second day of Jacob’s infiltration, and she watched his face as she spat the words at him. It was hard to hide the elevation in his chest, his relief, and he’d simply shrugged at her, grunting, “Better luck next time, I guess.” 

Jacob was definitely going to kill her when this was over.

It was hard being away from Pratt after weeks of being practically glued to his side, and Jacob could still feel his touch on his skin and his words in his mind, warmth curled around his heart and mind, but every hour it felt further away and it grew more painful to be separated, like his body was going through withdrawal, desperate to get back to _Pratt, Pratt, Pratt,_ and by the end of the third day, Jacob made a deal with himself that Eli would be dead by the end of the week, whether Joseph came or not.

Joseph did come, to Jacob’s utter relief and near ruin. He came in the morning before first light on the fourth day, and Jacob woke to his brother’s soft voice leading a morning prayer with the night shift.

_ Joseph. _

Jacob ignored the pain in his leg and arms as he bolted up, pulling his jacket on and touching his rabbit’s foot before he left his sleeping corner to seek out his brother.

Joseph was sitting at the small kitchen table, others sitting around him on chairs or on the couch, heads bowed, eyes closed, and Jacob stopped in the doorway, his heart beating hard in his chest as he looked at his brother, who raised his head, and blue met blue.

Joseph smiled, and all thoughts of Pratt were, for just a moment, gone. Just… gone.

“Jacob,” Joseph rose, breaking the stillness around him, and the Whitetails looked up, blinking themselves out of a daze as Joseph moved towards his oldest brother, arms outstretched.

“Joseph,” Jacob welcomed the embrace, arms wrapping around Joseph, squeezing him tight as Joseph’s forehead leaned against his.

“It is a relief to hear your voice.”

“Oh Joe, I see you still haven’t learned how to put a shirt on.”

Joseph laughed as he pulled back, gripping Jacob’s shoulders, his yellow aviators resting behind him on the table, and Jacob gripped his arms, unwilling to let go just yet.

“I bare myself to God now more than ever, so that he may see me amongst all this tragedy.”

The Whitetails were moving, leaving the room to give them some privacy, and Jacob’s eyes moved over his brother’s chest, looking for new scars, and he found more than he could count. 

“Shit, what the fuck’s happened to you?”

“Life has not been all that kind to me these past few months,” Joseph shrugged, brushing Jacob’s concern aside, “It does not matter now, for I have been rewarded for my struggles. One of my brothers has been returned to me.”

He smiled at Jacob, and Jacob felt his heart tighten, heat pricking behind his eyes, and he pulled Joseph back into a hug, holding him as tightly as he dared as a whirl of emotion went through him, raw and indescribable. 

“It’s all right,” Joseph soothed him, a hand moving to rub Jacob’s back, “I am here, you are safe.”

Jacob laughed, the sound breaking, choked in his throat. This was so fucked, what was he doing? He shouldn’t have waited, fuck, _Pratt, Joseph_. 

“I know you have suffered, brother, and I have no doubts that you have been made to do terrible things.”

_ You have no idea. _

“But I am here now, and I seek to free your soul of its burden. Come, let us speak.”

Joseph drew back, giving him another warm smile, and Jacob wanted so badly to return it, but his lips was shaky, and his mouth tasted like blood, his body rebelling at the very idea of lying to Joseph.

Joseph pulled him to the couch, sitting down and pulling Jacob down gently beside him, his fingers sliding down Jacob’s arms to take his hands.

“Tell me what has happened to you, Jacob,” Joseph’s eyes were soft, the eyes of a concerned brother, “I have heard nothing of you since that night in the church.”

Jacob took a deep breath, gripping Joseph’s hands as he tried to calm his body, tried to think of Pratt, of the strength he gave him.

“After you escaped I got taken to the Center by Pratt.”

Joseph nodded.

“I was…” Jacob hadn’t told John much of anything about his time with Pratt, but Joseph wasn’t sitting there bursting to talk about his own story, he was watching Jacob, listening for every word.

“I was kept in a cage for a few months, got starved for the first few weeks.”

Joseph nodded again.

“I wasn’t exactly the model prisoner, got knocked around ‘cause of my mouth, kept provoking the guards,” Jacob had already told Eli this, “Then Pratt started bringing me into the Center for some music sessions.”

“With the harmonica?”

“Yeah, kept playing Country Roads.”

“Country Roads?” Joseph frowned, “That’s not what we’ve heard from other captives.”

Jacob thought of the few short days he’d spent guarding the Projector Room, back pressed against the door, hearing a different song inside. He thought of how he’d kissed Pratt, warm with the knowledge that he was _special_, and he had to bite back a smile as something in him eased and he just gave a shrug. Joseph gestured for him to continue.

“I spent a few weeks doing that, running some kind of simulation” _bullets in his chest, his brain _“and I don’t know, it was weird, it’s like Pratt was twisting my emotions” _their breathing synched, Pratt’s hand on his cheek _“by the end of it I wasn’t the same, I… cared for him, wanted to protect him.”

He had to force the last few words out, his whole body growing tense, telling him to shut up, to protect what he and Pratt had.

“That’s how he binds people to him,” Joseph nodded, like he understood, but Jacob knew he didn’t, “To be emotional violated like that, I cannot imagine the struggle you have undergone Jacob.”

Pratt had given him emotional freedom if nothing else, but Jacob kept his mouth shut, looking at the floor instead of meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Did he make you do anything?”

Jacob thought of himself on his knees in the Projector Room, of the way Pratt had shoved him down on the bed, Pratt pulling his arms around him, but knew that’s not what Joseph was asking, the thought had probably never even occurred to him, and besides, Jacob had wanted those things, had wanted to be there. 

“I hurt some people,” Jacob said, thinking of the militia woman he’d knifed, how she’d spoken his name, and the bullet he’d put in Pratt, the blood he’d seen. Only the latter made him feel anything. 

“Did he make you kill anyone?” Joseph’s voice was so soft, but _make_ didn’t feel like the right word, and Jacob ran his tongue over lips as he thought of the Lumber Mill, of the kiss. Eli and the Whitetails didn’t know what he’d done, didn’t know how many of their companions he had killed, but as he looked at Joseph, it was as if Joseph could see into him, at the blood that stained his soul, and Jacob found the truth rising in his throat.

“I was at the Lumber Mill,” he said, voice flat, blue meeting blue, “I killed the Whitetails there, and I killed the ones that attacked the Center.”

“Oh, Jacob,” the tone of Joseph’s voice was wrong, _wrong_, it was tender, on the edge of pitying, and Jacob felt something dark stir in his stomach.

“Jacob, it wasn’t your fault,” Joseph freed one of his hands and reached out to put it on Jacob’s shoulder, burning hot through Jacob’s jacket, “I can’t imagine how that must feel.”

“I’ve killed before Joseph.”

Joseph’s fingers tightened for barely a second, like a flinch, and the darkness in Jacob’s stomach grew.

“This is different,” Joseph’s voice was a whisper.

“It’s not.”

“I understand your desire to shoulder the blame, to take on your own sin, but the blood you spilled is on his hands.”

_ Only because my hands belong to him. _

Jacob was silent, watching his brother. He hadn’t felt a thing killing the militia, Pratt had kept those feelings at bay, and afterwards he’d felt nothing but pride, satisfaction, hungry for Pratt’s smiles. Killing didn’t mean all that much to him, and Pratt had told him he didn’t have to pretend, had freed Jacob from the guilt of not caring, but it wasn’t Pratt he was speaking to now.

What would Joseph think of him? Joseph’s eyes were still soft, still so full of so much god damn understanding, and all it did was make Jacob angry because Joseph didn’t understand, he couldn’t. 

“Jacob?” Joseph asked quietly, eyes searching, and Jacob had to look away from him, teeth gritted.

“Sorry, Joe,” he forced out a laugh, forced his jaw to unclench “It’s all just been fucked up a bit, yeah?”

“Yes,” Joseph smiled, “But you’re not fucked up Jacob, I know you’re strong enough to get through this. Staci did not break you.”

Something twisted in Jacob, deep, deep inside, _Staci_, and his fingers turned to iron around Joseph’s, holding, _Staci_, crushing, and there was the urge to correct, the urge to do _something, Staci._

“What did you call him?”

Joseph was wincing, his hand on Jacob’s shoulder moving to rest over Jacob’s where his fingers were crushing Joseph’s. Jacob let go, delayed, a moment too late to just brush it off, and his fingers curled up into a fist.

_ Staci, Statt, Pratt. _

“Sorry,” he said, shortly.

“It’s all right,” Joseph flexed his fingers, “I know it’s a hard adjustment. I called him Staci, Jacob.”

Acid bubbled in Jacob’s stomach.

“Only Hudson and The Deputy call him that.”

_ I’ve never called him that. _

“Yes, I know,” Joseph smiled, still soft, “He hides behind his name, just like the other Deputies, but he is a person like any other. He is not just Pratt the Enforcer, he is also Staci.”

“You shouldn’t call him that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s-”_not your place _“-wrong. Everyone calls him Pratt.”

“His name is Staci,” Joseph told him, firmer, “So I will call him Staci. Just as Hudson is Joey, Whitehouse is Earl, and The Deputy is Avery. We must not forget that they have names like any other person, because that’s all they are, people, just like you and me.”

Goosebumps rose on Jacob’s arms, the name _Avery _cutting through him like _Staci_ had. The Deputy, Avery, Jacob hadn’t known the name before and he should never have known it now. Even Pratt did not call her that.

Jacob couldn’t do this, could feel darkness growing inside him, angry at the disrespect that was being shown-- he needed to change the subject, to get away from Pratt and The Deputy.

“Whatever. What about you?” Jacob shoved his anger down, gesturing at Joseph, seeking out calmer waters, “I thought you were dead Joe, tell me about what happened after you escaped.”

Joseph sighed, leaning back against the couch, but allowed the subject to drop.

“I ran, Jacob. For a week I just ran, moving from place to place, ashamed that I’d left all of you behind.”

“There is nothing you could have done.”

“I could have been with you.”

_ “Maybe you can bring two Seeds to their knees.” _

The Deputy’s voice echoed in his head and he was back to gritting his teeth, shaking his head, gesturing for Joseph to go on.

“When I finally felt safe enough, I knew I could not go on alone. I tried that once,” Joseph offered him a sad smile, “Being alone has never suited me, has it? So I decided to seek out another follower of God.”

“Pastor Jerome.”

“Yes,” Joseph’s smile turned amused, “The Pastor and I certainly had our disagreements before all this happened, but it is times of adversity that bring people together.”

“I heard you helped him and Mary May escape Fall’s End.”

“Yes, I owed them much more than I could ever repay by then,” Joseph nodded, twisting his rosary around his fingers, “They helped me push through my grief, sent me to help where I could, without violence.”

“It’s a war, Joseph,” Jacob’s voice was quiet, “the violence is unavoidable.”

“I know,” Joseph nodded, “And believe me, I have seen much of it in the last four months, men and women pushed to the brink of depravity. But I have made it my mission to be a symbol of peace, for people to remember who we were just months ago, that God still walks among us.”

Jacob was silent.

“I stayed in the Valley for the first month,” Joseph continued, looking down at his hands, “I had hoped to hear news of John, but heard nothing but that Faith was alive in the East, so I left and headed to the Henbane.”

“Did you see her?” Jacob had heard so little of Faith, about as much as he’d heard of Joseph.

“Only from a distance, only enough to know she was alive,” Joseph sighed, “Earl keeps her close.”

That lit a fire in Jacob’s blood-- if he’d laid a finger on her, Jacob would kill him, would kill him and rip him apart, burn whatever miserable bits were left of him when he was done.

_ Relax _ , he growled at himself, _Pratt wouldn’t work with a man like that. Relax._

He calmed the flash of fury with some effort, Joseph waiting patiently for him to relax before he continued, “I did what I could to help, but the people there seemed somehow oblivious to what Earl is doing, the supplies he’s taken, stockpiling.

“He’s stockpiling stuff?”

“Yes, it seems Avery has tasked him with filling their bunkers,” Joseph frowned, “I saw very little fighting in that part of the county, people trust Earl, and those that don’t have been killed or were sent to Staci.”

Every use of the names stabbed into Jacob’s mind, making his fingers twitch, and he shoved them between his thighs to keep them still.

“He’s been Sheriff for a long time, people don’t like to look beyond their front doors if they can help it,” he said through gritted teeth, “How long have you been in Pratt’s territory?”

“Just a few weeks,” Joseph watched him, “Before I came, I was going back and forth between the Valley and the Henbane, to the Valley when I heard that John was alive and to help those that I could get out of Fall’s End, and then back to the river to help Tracey. We decided, talking among friends, that nothing will change until the source of the Follower’s obedience is stopped.”

“Pratt,” it wasn’t a question, but Joseph still nodded.

“Yes. I came after the attack on the Center.”

“You’re gonna focus everything on Pratt.”

Joseph nodded.

It was smart, it’s what Jacob would have done if things had been different.

“If I had known you were alive, brother,” Joseph reached out to touch him, fingers on Jacob’s hands, trapped between his legs, “I would have come sooner.”

Jacob looked down at his brother’s hand and thought of his visit to the Valley.

“Did you see John?” he asked Joseph.

Joseph sighed.

“No, but I have heard of what he’s done, the destruction he has wrought.”

“I saw him a few weeks ago.”

“Really?” Joseph’s eyes widened, “You were in the Valley?”

“Yeah, Pratt took me down to see him, after the Lumber Mill, as a reward,” Jacob nodded, thinking of John’s smile, the burn of the whiskey, and the way he had cried, clutching Pratt’s hand.

“How was he?”

Jacob shrugged, and again, he was honest with his brother, “He was at the Ranch, he seemed to be doing well.”

“The Ranch,” Joseph murmured, “Oh, John, how you are so easily tempted. He should never have built that place.”

He pulled his hand away from Jacob and Jacob did not miss the touch. 

Joseph stood, taking a deep breath in, sucking it up through his nose, then let it out, a sharp puff out of his mouth. He seemed to think for a moment, not looking at Jacob, then came to a decision, smiling and turning back towards him.

“Jacob, we should not keep you cooped up. I want to bring you to the Elk Lounge, to let you see the fruits our efforts have bore.”

Jacob blinked up at him, surprised at the offer.

“You trust me to be there?”

Joseph beamed at him.

“Of course I trust you.”

Leaving the Wolf’s Den meant leaving Eli—he could fuck this whole thing up, but Joseph was offering him not only more time to spend together, but also a glimpse into the Resistance’s base, right at their numbers and supplies.

It was not what Pratt would have wanted him to do, but Jacob swore to himself as he stood up, that he would be back, that Eli would die.

“I’d like to go,” he offered Joseph a small smile, “But I need to come back after, got some stuff cooking with Eli.”

A warm hand clapped down on his shoulder again, and Joseph’s smile widened, “Great, we’ll leave after lunch and be back by nightfall.”

Jacob nodded, wincing as he rested weight on his injured leg—he’d need to see the medic before they left. He told Joseph as much.

“Yes, get seen to, I need to speak with Eli anyway,” Joseph pulled his hand away, “After lunch then?”

“Yeah, after lunch.”

Jacob wasn’t blindfolded this time around when he and Joseph loaded into the back of a van, a Whitetail Jacob only knew by sight sliding into the driver’s seat up front.

He supposed it was a pretty good sign that they trusted him enough to show him where the Wolf’s Den was, although he was sure he would have been able to find it fairly easily now that he knew how close it was to the Visitor’s Center. 

Pratt was going to laugh when he found out the Wolf Den had been so close to their chosen target, or at least, Jacob hoped he would laugh.

They rode in silence, the radio switched off, and Joseph had his rosary circled around his hands and his eyes closed, his lips moving but no sound coming out. Silence was fine by Jacob, and he leaned to look out the front windshield, to confirm exactly where they were.

Yep, just south of the Visitor’s Center, Jacob would be able to find it again if Joseph tried to stop him leaving the Lounge.

_ Joseph _ .

Jacob looked at his brother, frowning. Did Joseph trust him? He hadn’t exactly made a good show of being free from Pratt in front of his brother, and the way that Joseph seemed to almost _pity_ him for the violence he had apparently been _made _to do, that Joseph had no doubts he was agonizing over, made Jacob grit his teeth.

Joseph didn’t understand

Jacob looked down at his hands, that had curled into fists without his permission, and he forced his fingers to relax, uncurling them one by one.

_ It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t, you’re not staying here anyways,  _ he told himself, a quiet voice telling him at the same time that Joseph wouldn’t give up just because Eli was dead, Joseph would keep trying to save his brother from the wicked Pratt.

_ Although he seems to have given up on John pretty quickly. _

Jacob thought of John and the satisfaction he had found in his new positon, and he thought of Faith and he hoped she was safe— that she’d found happiness in her new home, just like John had. Just like Jacob had. 

He’d find out when he got home, he would ask Pratt, ask him to appeal to Whitehorse for a visit, as a reward. Jacob wanted to see his sister.

“Jacob?”

Jacob looked up and Joseph’s eyes were open.

“Yeah?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Faith.”

Joseph nodded, giving him a small smile before he closed his eyes again. Jacob watched him for a moment, the cross on his rosary swaying as the van turned, then they stopped. They had arrived.

The back doors of the van opened, cold rushing in, and Jacob was greeted with a large, familiar, beaming face. 

“YO! Big J-Dog! A big o’ congrats on not kickin’ the bucket man, ya know, I thought-”

Jacob did not give a singular fuck about what Hurk Jr. thought of anything ever, and he pushed his way out of the van, stepping down onto frozen earth.

Joseph followed behind him, gracing Hurk Jr. with a smile.

“YO! Middle J-Dog! Damn you fast, you were gone like, ten minutes, I swear, that’s some Sonic the Hedgehog shit.”

“Hello Hurk, I’ve been gone a few hours.”

“Really? Yeah, but you know that Sonic critter, right? Blue fucker, real fast. Man, if he was on our side, ain’t no shit gonna stop us! Pratt would come at us with them guns, but bam, fuckin’ Sonic the Hedgehog comes in, tearin’ shit up—“

Jacob tuned him out the best he could, leaving Joseph to nod politely along as he took in his surroundings. 

He’d never been to the Elk Lounge, although about half a year ago Faith had encouraged him to enter one of their hunting contests to try to bring in the biggest buck. 

“Maybe you can make some friends,” she had smiled at him brightly, and he’d let her sign him up, unable to say no in the moment when she seemed so excited for him, and he’d dropped off his buck at Chad Wolanski’s house, but had never gone to the awards ceremony where he’d won second place. 

“Did you go?” Faith had asked when she’d read about it in the newspaper.

“No,” he’d just received his $50 check in the mail instead.

She’d given him a small, sad smile, but just rested her head on his arm, going back to reading her book without another word, which Jacob was grateful for, and she’d never brought up the Lounge again.

It was full of people now, as it was the biggest outpost the Resistance had in the Whitetails now that the Mill belonged to the Followers. Most of the people were dressed in the militia camouflage, Whitetail antlers on their backs, and there were almost as many dogs on the property as there were people. Hunting dogs, Jacob suspected, and he tried to keep count of the number of people and dogs he saw before Joseph’s hand came down on his shoulder.

“Good to get some air, right?” he smiled. Hurk had left them to talk to the driver, who actually looked happy to see him.

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded, and it was true—being underground for three days made him appreciate the fresh air, as cold as it was.

“There’re some people here that want to see you,” Joseph stepped passed Jacob, gesturing towards the Lounge.

“Who?”

“Some folks from Before, come on, I’ll show you around.”

Jacob was doubtful, but he followed Joseph, letting him lead him into the Lounge. There was a lot of weaponry inside, safe from the cold, and Jacob’s eyes roved over guns and explosives, counting, before Joseph turned his attention towards some of the people inside.

There were indeed a few that Jacob knew from Before, the people Joseph had spoken of, but they were mostly acquaintances, more John’s, Joseph’s, and Faith’s friends than his, but they still smiled and reached out to shake his hand as Joseph led him around, expressing their relief that he was alive and safe. 

There were people like Elouise Barker, who owned a general store over in the Henbane where John always bought cigars behind Joseph’s back, and Yuki Hasegawa, a middle school social studies teacher who hosted potlucks once a month at her home, though Jacob had never gone, and Skylar Kohrs, who Jacob had sometimes run into down by the water fishing, and her dickhead of a boyfriend, Dylan, who seemed afraid to even look at Jacob.

There was also Leo Summers, who ran a small river cruise in the warmer seasons in Hope County, and Nora Hunter, who ran a flower shop in the Valley and who Faith had had the biggest crush on for months. She’d often dragged Jacob down to buy sunflowers and home-made peanut butter fudge from Nora and her son, Lysander, on Sundays after church. Lysander wasn’t with his mother, who smiled sadly at Jacob, and Jacob didn’t have the heart to ask where he was. 

Most of these people he hadn’t spared a thought for since he’d been taken, and it was weird to be reminded they existed, like seeing an old classmate from high school that you had always known the name of, but never gotten to know. He’d lived in the same place as these people, knew their names, but knew barely anything about them.

The only expectation was Grace Armstrong, who Jacob had made some effort to get to know, but still was hardly a friend. She actually patted him on the back when she saw him, and told him that if she’d shot Pratt, she’d have actually hit something important. It was a familiar rib, a crack at his shooting skills, and he could laugh at it now that he knew Pratt was alive, but the laugh died in his throat as he remembered Grace’s father and the mysterious, not so mysterious now, circumstances of his death.

It had happened in the Valley, his car run off the road with both him and Grace in it—Hudson’s work, if Jacob had to guess.

He forced a smile, and told Grace not to get herself killed.

“Likewise Seed.”

They parted with a nod, and Joseph led Jacob back outside. 

“Are any of your flock here?” Jacob asked Joseph as cold descended upon them once more, “did any of them survive?”

“A few, yes, the ones that had gone into hiding before Avery-” Jacob’s fingers twitched “-attacked the church. They’re not here though,” Joseph’s eyes were sad and he pulled his coat more firmly around him.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” Jacob reached out to grip his brother’s shoulder, and Joseph leaned into the comfort for a moment before he brought Joseph forth to a new person, a tall, stocky woman, who was wrapped up properly in winter clothing and had a whistle around her neck.

“Jacob, this is Mary Wilson,” the woman turned and stuck out her gloved hand, her grip good and firm as she shook Jacob’s.

There were three dogs sitting near her, two of them patiently waiting while the third was jittery, their tongue lolling out of their mouth as they waited for attention.

“I was the kennel master here before everything happened,” Mary told Jacob, “Most of the dogs you see walkin’ around were hunting dogs owned by the Lounge.”

“Mary is hoping to head over to the Henbane in a few days,” Joseph told Jacob, “She’s got a son and daughter helping out Tracy, and she’s hoping to join them.”

“Okay,” Jacob nodded, not sure why he was being told this.

“Joseph says you’re pretty good with dogs.”

_ Ah. _

“Yeah, I guess,” Jacob shrugged, and Joseph laughed, “He’s being modest, Jacob had trained more than a few dogs since he came home.” 

“I see, well, these dogs are gonna need a need a new keeper, and Joseph here was suggesting that maybe you could help out?” Mary looked at Jacob, “Since you’re back from the dead and all.”

Jacob looked at the dogs, who were starting to get antsy, but still obediently sat, waiting. Just looking at them made him miss Judge, who had been the first dog he had trained when he got home to America, and he’d taken on the training of a few others when he came to Hope, his services offered mostly to members of Eden’s Gate. He was good at it, he liked it, but that’s not why he was here.

“I could do a lot more than train dogs, Joseph,” Jacob looked at his brother, than back at Mary, “No offense.”

She shrugged.

“I know you can do more, Jacob, but I’m sure you’re tired of fighting, and taking a step back might do you some good, help you clear your head,” Joseph spread his hands.

There was another twinge in Jacob, of annoyance, thoughts forming that he couldn’t quite put into words, but had a bite to them, and he forced himself to just shrug. He wasn’t here to fight or train dogs, so it didn’t really matter. 

“Is that a yes?” Mary asked, and Jacob shrugged again, adding a “Yeah, whatever Joseph wants me to do.”

Joseph beamed, reaching out a hand to both him and Mary, grasping their shoulders, “Excellent.”

Mary nodded, and raised her whistle to her lips. With a short tweet, the dogs darted off, and Mary turned back to watch them, effectively dismissing the two Seed brothers. Given time, Jacob would have liked her.

Joseph led him back inside as the sun began to dip down below the mountains even though it was barely five. Jacob’s leg was beginning to ache, so he parked himself on a box next to Grace while Joseph slipped off to talk to others at the Lounge. 

His brother seemed popular; even those that weren’t religious reached out whenever Joseph approached, and Jacob remembered that The Deputy had called Joseph a symbol of the Resistance. 

He mentioned this to Grace, who shrugged, then nodded, “Yeah, I guess he really gives people hope, which is all some people have right now.”

“He give you hope?”

“Some,” Grace nodded again, “Although, the way he calls the Enforcers by their names rubs me the wrong way. It’s like he’s tryin’ to humanize them, but seeing them purely as the monsters they are works just fine for me.”

“Yeah, I don’t much like it either,” Jacob nodded.

“No one does.”

With that they lapsed into a comfortable silence, Grace cleaning her rifle, checking the scoop, while Jacob looked around the lounge, content to just observe. A few more people came up to welcome him back, some of whom he knew, some of whom he didn’t, then around six, there was a loud bit of honking from outside and Chad Wolanski pulled up with dinner.

Jacob went out with the others, following Grace, and meat and potatoes wrapped in tinfoil was handed from hand to hand until everyone was gathered around the truck with a steaming dinner in their hands.

Joseph climbed up onto the truck bed, and everyone quieted down, holding the hot meal in their cold fingers.

“I’ll be quick, so that we may enjoy this meat before it’s cold,” Joseph smiled down at them, and he closed his eyes. About half the others followed suit, the rest just looking at the ground, patiently waiting for Joseph to finish as he began to say grace.

Jacob watched his shoes, thinking of the bible in his bedroom at home, then Joseph was done and his brother was back at his side, a hand on his shoulder.

“Come,” Joseph smiled, “Let’s eat.”

They sat on the stairs in the Lounge, many others gathering to join them, and Jacob sat in silence at Joseph’s side, his meal gone before Joseph was half finished his, and he stared into space while his brother talked with the resistance members, at home among them.

Jacob hadn’t eaten a meal with so many people since Joseph’s Sunday lunches after church and it was just as loud and uncomfortable as he remembered. He thought of the meals he’d eaten in the Projector room, Pratt feeding him while they talked, and of the sandwiches he’d brought to Pratt only a few nights ago, how Pratt had eaten them mostly naked on his back, foot now and then brushing against Jacob’s. He wanted to go home.

Joseph did not try to pull him out of his thoughts, out of his silence, and Jacob did not speak again until they were back in the van, headed up the mountain towards the Wolf’s Den.

“Will you stay the night?” Jacob asked, brushing a finger over the fur of his Luck.

“I will stay until you are ready to leave,” Joseph smiled at him, “I don’t want us to be separated again.”

Jacob nodded.

Joseph took the floor space next to his in the Wolf’s Den, although those who had beds had readily offered theirs, but Joseph waved them off with a smile.

Joseph asked Jacob to pray with him before they closed their eyes for the night, and Jacob knew he owed Joseph that much. He listened to Joseph’s words on his knees beside his blankets, listening to Joseph wish for the safety of their lost brother and sister, of protection for the days to come, and for the strength to do what is right, and he echoed Joseph’s quiet “amen” before they laid down in the semi-dark of the bunker, where lights were still on for the night watch.

Jacob expected another nightmare; he could just feel something lurking beneath the surface when he closed his eyes, but instead he dreamed of the church, back before all this, when he thought he’d been satisfied just existing, there only for his siblings.

Joseph was preaching, shirtless with his pews full of smiling people who had no real faces, but Jacob couldn’t hear his brother, his voice muffled, and when he looked around, John and Faith were nowhere to be seen.

He opened his mouth to call out for them, but his own voice was as muffled as Joseph’s, and no one seemed able to hear him. He tried to move, to go to Joseph, to ask him where the others were, but it was like swimming through mud, every movement slow and heavy.

The church grew darker as he moved towards Joseph, the Faithful disappearing around him, and he heard the distant sound of glass shattering when he reached out, fingers reaching for Joseph.

His brother smiled at him, but instead of touching bare skin, Jacob’s fingers touched soft green fabric, and Joseph was The Deputy, and Jacob could hear her, her voice unmuffled. 

_ “The Collapse is coming.” _

She was expressionless, unreadable, but then she seemed to almost smile and reached up to touch his cheek, echoing Joseph’s words.

“_Staci did not break you_.”

Jacob opened his eyes.

Joseph was asleep beside him, rosary curled around his fingers, and Jacob knew it was almost dawn, even with no sky above him, and he felt something rise in his throat.

He let it out in a quiet whisper of, “Staci.”

He tried the name out, to see how it felt, how it tasted in his mouth, and he whispered it again, how he would if Pratt were here, if Pratt was pressed up against him in the dark, intimate and alone. Then he said it louder, just slightly, like The Deputy did, casually, familiar, like they were equals.

It didn’t taste good. It tasted wrong, making his bones tense like he’d eaten something that suddenly crunched when it was supposed to be soft.

“Pratt,” he whispered instead, and that felt better, that felt right.

He sat up, and the silence around him shifted, pressing down on him, and he needed to get up, he had work to do today, things he needed to tell Joseph, to confess, before he could go home.

But first he needed Strength, he needed Pratt, and he rose up, pulling on his jacket and strapping his knife to his leg before leaving his bed, heading for Wheaty’s office.

Wheaty was at his desk, manning the radios while Eli slept, low music playing quietly from a pair of speakers by his broadcast system, something alternative, indie.

He looked up when he heard Jacob’s footsteps, pen posed over a half completed list of supplies that was written in hand writing only half legible to Jacob. When he saw Jacob, he turned his music down even quieter and Jacob asked him if he had any John Denver music.

“John Denver?” Wheaty looked surprised, his voice at its normal volume, disturbing the quiet, pulling Jacob back down to earth.

“Yeah, you’re the music guy around here, right?”

“Yep, sure am,” Wheaty beamed, then turned a little red “Friends use to call me DJ Flame.”

“They did?

“Yeah, it’s ‘cause my tracks are always fire, and uh, I used to have these cool flame earrings that, uh, my mom gave me…but, uh, anyway, it didn’t last and you don’t care about that.”

Jacob didn’t.

“But yeah,” Wheaty pushed his chair back and stood up, turning towards the shelves he’d assembled against the wall “I think I’ve got something that might work. Never would have pegged you as a John Denver fan.”

“It’s a recent interest.” 

John and Joseph both loved music, they always had, even sharing similar tastes, Joseph sheepishly admitting to enjoying the pop and club music that John favored, but Jacob had had no strong feeling about it either way until he’d met Miller.

“That’s cool, my, uh, my dad loves him,” Wheaty began moving boxes of records aside, pulling a box out from the back of his shelves and beginning to root around in it, “I think I have his old CD player and discs in here somewhere. He, uh, left ‘em for me before heading back to the reservation, after him and ma got divorced.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. I’ll be nineteen next month,” Wheaty picked up the box and moved it onto the table where he could see better, continuing to riffle through it.

“Eli seems to entrust you with a lot of stuff.”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess.”

“You seem like, what, his third in command? You’re pretty young to have so much on your shoulders.”

He thought of Maria, the seventeen year old back at the Center.

“Yeah, well, not much choice,” Wheaty shrugged, “besides, Pratt is only like, twenty-five, right?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Twenty-six. I figure if he’s old enough to do what he’s doing, I’m old enough to be doin’ what I’m doing. I mean, at my age, I could be entering the military.”

Jacob didn’t answer, and after a moment Wheaty murmured a quiet “gotcha” and pulled out an old, dark blue and silver CD player. The silver part was scratched up, dotted with black where the paint had been scratched off, but it looked in relatively good shape and the clam shell popped open when Wheaty pressed down on it. 

“Sweet, now, CDs,” Wheaty offered the player out to Jacob, “Oh, and you’ll need headphones.”

He dived back into the box, emerging with a few CD cases, which he also passed to Jacob. Many of them were mismatched, the CDs in the wrong cases, but one was indeed a John Denver’s Greatest Hits album in a Green Day American Idiot case.

“You want ear buds or…?” Wheaty pulled a tangled mess out of the box, and Jacob didn’t need to see the ends of the cords to imagine the yellowed, ear waxed ear buds that had been rotting in the box.

“You got just headphones, with the connecting bit?”

“Yeah, somewhere, give me a moment,” Wheaty ducked under his table to riffle around, and Jacob popped the CD into the player, hearing it begin to whir when he snapped the clamshell closed. 

Wheaty straightened back up with a pair of headphones and offered them out to Jacob.

“They work, but uh, don’t have the greatest bass capabilities.”

“They’ll be fine.”

“Cool, cool,” Wheaty nodded, Jacob taking the headphones from his hand and plugging them into the player after giving it a few spins to find the jack.

“If anyone comes looking for me, I’ll be outside, by the helipad.”

“Okay!”

“And thanks,” Jacob gestured down at the player, “I’ll make sure to get it back to you.”

“No hurry!” Wheaty grinned, holding up his hands, “use it as long as you’d like, and hey, if you wanna try some different stuff, swing on by.”

Jacob nodded, raising the player in a small salute of thanks before he stepped away from the table, turning his back on Wheaty and moving through the surveillance room and up the stairs into the fresh air.

It was not quite dawn, the sky lightening, but the mountains still stubbornly hiding the sun, and Jacob pulled his Whitetail jacket tight around him as chilly December air stirred around him.

He walked pass the helipad, climbing a little higher and searching for a place to settle down and listen. He ended up on the ground, slightly wet with frost, and he leaned back against a part of the mountain that jutted up, forming a comfortable resting place. 

Jacob didn’t know that in another universe, in another time, this is where he would have died, choking on a bullet in his lung, sacrificing himself for his brother and dying with the world, once again, in crisis. For now, it was just a place to sit, shielded from the wind, and he raised the headphones to one ear, turning on the player.

He didn’t have the CD case, so he had to skip through a couple of songs, most of which he didn’t know, before that familiar guitar intro started, and he pressed the repeat button on the player, settling the headphones around his neck and turning up the volume until he could hear the song without covering his ears, so he could still be aware of his surroundings.

The music was different, of course, it wasn’t played on a harmonica and didn’t instantly pull him down into white bliss, and it was staticy with age, but he let out a long breath as the song played, curling around his ears, letting himself relax back against the rocks and close his eyes.

He imagined he was back in the Projector Room, in a chair but not bound to it, something that had never happened, but maybe one day it would. Pratt was there on the table, sitting as he always was, playing for Jacob, and maybe after they would talk, like they use to when Jacob was bound, Pratt answering questions about himself and laughing. There was so much Jacob still didn’t know about him, and Jacob had had so much he wanted to tell Pratt about himself, he wanted the time to tell him, to be with him.

Jacob let the music relax him, let it pull him into his memories even as he thought of the future.

_ The Collapse is coming. _

“Jacob?”

He’d listened to the song three times before Joseph found him.

Jacob had heard him coming, the soft sounds of his footfalls, and he opened his eyes to look at his brother, who was peering down at him with bright blue eyes. Jacob was stiff with cold, but his core felt warm.

“Joseph.”

“Are you okay, brother?”

Jacob blinked up at him, then gave a shrug, “Dunno.”

He wasn’t—he was here, and Pratt was not.

Joseph pulled his jacket tighter around him, then squatted down to Jacob’s level, not quite sitting yet.

“What are you doing out here? What are you listening to?” he leaned forward and Jacob let him, both of them quiet for a moment so that Joseph could listen, the music still playing loud enough to be heard.

Joseph is the only one Jacob had told about the song Pratt had chosen for him, and Jacob watched Joseph’s face change as recognition dawned and he sighed, pursing his lips, a look Jacob knew as Joseph trying to hold back frustration. It was a look usually directed at John. 

“Jacob, this is not healthy.”

“Yeah, Joe, I know.”

“You’ve latched yourself onto a man who starved you, hurt you, made you kill people.”

There was that word again, _made_, and Jacob’s eyes dropped down to the CD player, following the lines of the silver casing. Pratt hadn’t made him do anything.

The song came to an end over the headphones, these started up again after a moment of silence and it sounded different to Jacob’s ears—tinny, higher. He could imagine Pratt licking his lips, smiling before he played.

“Jacob?” Joseph’s hand touched his over the player and Jacob’s grip on it tightened, daring Joseph to try to take it. He didn’t, but Jacob could hear the frown in his brother’s voice.

“Jacob, I know it’s hard” _no you don’t _“I know you were in there for so long that it’s hard to see past the lie that Staci-”_Pratt_ “constructed.”

“You really think you understand don’t you?” it was biting, and Jacob watched Joseph’s fingers flinch back, but he still didn’t look at his brother.

“Jacob, I don’t, you’re—“ Joseph cut himself off with a frown, then started again, “You’re not usually so difficult, you’re practical, you must know that this is not going to last, whatever feelings you have with Staci-”

“**Don’t** call him that,” Jacob’s voice was firm, angry almost, but Joseph pushed on.

“Whatever feelings you have, they are not real, they were forced on you, manufactured by these people that would use you, that would seek to harm us,” Joseph looked at him, eyes blue and earnest, though Jacob did not see them, “Listen to me, hear me, Jacob. None of what you felt, nothing that Pratt showed you, was real.”

“You don’t know what I saw, you don’t know what I feel.”

_ You don’t know, you don’t care. _

_ Pratt. _

“I do not need to,” Joseph moved to grasp his shoulders, “think, Jacob, think. Think of all the time you’ve spent with him, the things he asked you to do, always motivated by The Deputy, always motivated by his own ambition. None of it’s real, Jacob.”

Jacob did think. He thought about those first few weeks with Pratt, where he’d been starving in the mud, kicked around by guards, had his jacket ripped off his body and the way that Pratt had looked at him, the pure hatred in his eyes, when Jacob had called him Weak. He thought about the Projector Room, his first run-throughs, and he tried to remember past the feeling of Pratt’s hand on his cheek, tried to remember the fear he’d felt, the feelings he’d been forced to feel. He thought of Pratt’s cold smiles, the ones that didn’t reach his eyes.

He thought of the bear family he’d hunted, the Whitetails he’d killed, Jess Black who he’d captured, and he remembered lying in bed, half drunk out of his mind with Pratt’s weight on top of him when he’d first been asked to kill Eli and then on his knees in the Projector Room, promising Pratt he’d kill anyone, do whatever was asked of him, his throat raw from Pratt’s cock.

He remembered the fire in Pratt’s eyes when Jacob had advanced on the Deputy, the way he’d raged at Jacob in his bedroom, demanding his loyalty, demanding that he mean more to Jacob than his siblings. 

“You must see that he was using you, Jacob, _is_ using you.”

_ _

_ “You’re here because you’re Strong, Jacob, you’re Strong, and I like to surround myself with Strength.” _

_ _

“It’s not that simple, Joe.”

_ “I know you're a violent man, Jacob, I know I won’t be able to train that out of you, and I certainly wouldn’t want to—you’d be no good to me that way.” _

_ _

“Isn’t it?”

_ “Your place is here, with me, wherever I decide, and Joseph isn’t fucking here. I will tell you what I want, when I want.” _

_ _

“No.”

_ _

_ I know he’s using me, I’ve known it all along, but it’s not that simple. _

_ _

“Do you think he loves you Jacob?”

Jacob finally looked at his brother, their eyes meeting as the sun at last broke out from behind the mountain peaks and bathed them in early morning light. A bird chirped nearby, singing to a neighbor, and somewhere a wolf howled, bidding the moon goodnight, and Jacob could hear the music still play through his headphones.

He felt warm.

_ Safe, safe, safe. _

The hilt of his knife gleamed in the sunlight, winking as Jacob shifted his leg, and he could see his brother, could really see him, and he thought of Pratt again.

He thought of seeing Pratt in his home, first in his sessions, Pratt sitting on his couch, safe and happy, then in the real light of day, Pratt listening silently as Jacob told him about Miller, reaching out to touch him, to absolve him, Jacob’s lips pressed to his pulse. 

He thought about the Mill, the first time Pratt had really trusted him, had kissed him, pulling him back for more when one kiss just hadn’t been enough, and Pratt had kept his promise, had let Jacob see John, had let Jacob touch him as a drunken, crying mess, soothing him. 

He thought about the Projector Room, the bittersweet moments they’d had, the things Pratt had told him, the taste of Pratt on his tongue and later, when Pratt had shoved him down on the bed, blistering with anger, but Jacob had cooled the fire in his eyes, had turned him gentler.

Lastly he thought about the morning they’d shared before Jacob had shot him, Pratt’s fingers inside him, the things he’s whispered, telling Jacob to come home, to come back to him, and his dog tags, warmed by Pratt’s skin, hidden under his uniform where only Jacob knew they’d be, a part of Jacob’s armor blending perfectly into Pratt’s as Jacob held him, close and warm.

It was sweet, so so sweet and everything in Jacob ached. Before Pratt what had he been? A ghost following his brother? A broken mess pretending to be a person, pretending to care? Pratt didn’t need him to pretend. He’d molded Jacob as he liked, taking the violent parts and instilling order within the ruin, melding Jacob back together.

_ Does Pratt love me? _

“I don’t know,” he told Joseph, _and I don’t care._

Joseph’s eyes went soft, like he was still so full of so much god damn understanding, and Jacob wondered how different a man he would have been if he’d never been separated from his brothers. What would he be like if he’d never burned down that barn, never gone to juvie, never entered military, never killed a man? 

Would he be like Joseph, so disgusted by the idea of killing that even in the middle of a war he would stick to his principals, would raise his hand only to offer it, never to strike? Jacob didn’t think so. He wasn’t Joseph, especially not now that he belonged to Pratt.

_ I’m not the man Joseph wants me to be _ .

Jacob accepted that, and in that acceptance came clarity. There was no going back, no one was going to change that, not John, not Faith… Not Joseph.

He was Pratt’s, and he had promised to kill Pratt’s enemies. 

_ Protect, Protect, Protect. _

“’Jacob, _I_ love you,” Joseph whispered, earnest, “You know that don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Jacob did know it, but it changed nothing. Joseph loved the man he had been, his older brother, burning down barns for him, taking the hard hits, a person he could no longer be so long as Pratt and Joseph were enemies.

“I love you too, Joe.”

This too was true; Jacob loved Joseph, but he loved Pratt too and he loved Pratt more.

“Whatever hold… _Pratt_ has,” Joseph gave him a weak smile, “We can break it Jacob, with time. We will help you to heal, I tried to rush it, I’m sorry, I see now that you need time.”

Jacob didn’t speak, gazing into his brother’s eyes.

“The Resistance is growing, soon we will be able to push back the Followers, Eli and I will work until we’ve freed the region, then we can move on to freeing our brother and sister.”

_ John, Faith. _

“And Pratt?”

Jacob could see deep into Joseph eyes, and now he could see Joseph’s soul, could seek the truth.

“He will be put before the judgement of God, as all men are.”

_ Pratt, Pratt, Pratt. _

“Oh, Jacob.”

Jacob didn’t realize there were tears leaking from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, mixing into his beard. Joseph reached out to brush them away, pressing a hand to Jacob’s cheek, but the touch was wrong.

“Don’t mourn for him, brother,” Joseph smiled, gentle, stroking a thumb along one of Jacob’s scars, “He will go where he can no longer harm us.”

It was not Pratt that Jacob was mourning for.

He reached out and pulled Joseph to him, crushing his brother in a tight hug, leaving tears on his brother’s jacket as he held him close, thinking of what could have been if Joseph had never found him all those years ago, if Jacob had been left to die before he’d found the sun.

Joseph didn’t scream like Miller did when Jacob plunged the knife into his back, his mouth pressed to Jacob’s shoulder in embrace, muffling any sound, but Jacob felt how he stiffened, how the breath was punched out of him, and the tears flowed faster as he twisted the knife, and all he could think was that he was a coward—he hadn’t been able to look Miller in the eye when he’d done it either. 

Joseph died quickly, though not going gently into that good night as he tried to gasp his brother’s name, his hands clutching at Jacob’s shoulders, nails ripping at Jacob’s flesh, but not strong enough to move him, and when his struggles weakened, then stopped, Jacob closed his eyes, the sound of birds filling his ears and the sunlight turning his eyelids red.

_ Good, good, perfect, Jacob. _

He lowered Joseph to the ground, and he wrapped Joseph’s rosary around his brother’s fingers. He closed his brother’s eyes, identical to his, then he stood, body numb. He’d be back to bury him, he would not leave Joseph to the wolves, and he tried to think of something to say, one last word for this brother, but his mind was full of only Pratt, and he stepped away from Joseph without a word.

He had only his knife, but that was all he would need as he descended down into the Wolf’s Den. 

Tammy was first, too busy turning her knobs, making one of Pratt’s Chosen shake, to notice him enter. His hand was over her mouth and his knife was in her back before she even knew he was there. Teeth sank into his fingers, drawing blood, and he caught an elbow or two to the gut, but it did nothing to save her, and Jacob took the pistol off her body after he lowered her to the floor. He left the Chosen in the kiddy pool, but turned off the electricity before he moved on to the kid, grabbing a silencer off Eli’s table as he passed.

Wheaty saw him coming, raising a hand to say hello as he looked up from his records, mouth opening to ask Jacob if he’d like the CD. The bullet hit him between the eyes, clean as could be, and he dropped. Jacob left the CD player and headphones on his table.

Jacob moved on to the dormitory, shooting the men and women still in bed, heart calm, mind focused. Eli was in the armory along with Walker, restringing his bow, laughing at something Walker had said.

Walker saw Jacob, saw the gun, and had just begun to stutter something out, eyes wide with panic, when Jacob put a bullet through his heart. Eli turned, the bow held loosely in his hand, arrows out of reach, and Jacob hit him, pistol whipping him back into the wall before he shoot him once in the leg, then again in the head.

There was no ceremony, no words, and in less than half an hour, the Wolf’s Den was nothing but bodies and Jacob.

Jacob moved to Eli’s surveillance room and recorded a single message to be broadcast to the Veteran’s Center, the coordinates of the Wolf’s Den, _Eli dead_, and then he left. He climbed the ladder, went to pick up his brother’s body, and he left.

Joseph’s body was heavy, but he barely felt the weight. His leg was screaming, but he barely felt the pain. He’d killed something inside himself when he’d killed Joseph, and he felt numb all over as he walked, and walked, and walked. He passed abandoned cars, abandoned trucks, not stopping, not seeing them. He passed ATVs covered in dirt and blood and vans upended and half destroyed and he kept walking and walking and walking.

The church had never felt so far away and yet so close as Jacob returned to where it had all begun.

The church was empty, it was untouched, looking just as they had left it, the window broken but otherwise undamaged by The Deputy and her Followers. The bodies of the Faithful that been gunned down that night were gone, Jacob didn’t know where they’d been buried, if they’d been buried, and it began to snow as Jacob placed Joseph gently on the ground outside.

Digging a grave in the frozen ground without a shovel was impossible, and even with the small gardening shovel Jacob managed to find it took a long time, but Jacob was Strong and he had the hands God gave him and he pulled at the earth until he had created a final resting place for his brother.

He lowered Joseph gently into the grave, snow already mixing into his brother’s hair, his eye lashes, and if Jacob wasn’t so numb, he’d be freezing.

He made sure Joseph’s rosary was secure in his hands, wrapped around his fingers, before he began to return the dirt to the earth, burying his brother as night fell and wolves began to howl in the night. He had no grave marker, no cross, like Joseph would have wanted, but what are churches if not giving and Jacob took the cross that hung behind Joseph’s pulpit, sticking it into the earth and finally, finally, stopped to rest, leaning against the cross, eyes closing as the snow fell silently around him.

His tears salted the earth, leaving tracts of cold down his face, and he took a moment to grieve, for his brother, for the person he’d been with Joseph, the things he’d done for him—standing up to their father, burning the barn, surviving the fucking war only to have nothing to show for it until Staci Pratt pushed him out of this church.

“I wish I’d been better for you brother,” Jacob whispered, voice breaking in the silence, “I’m sorry.”

Pratt had said he’d be waiting for him, and Jacob had promised he wouldn’t keep him waiting long. Joseph was dead, snow already starting to stick on the grave, and when his eyes dried and the moon rose higher in the sky, Jacob stood up. He left the church, left the island, leaving Joseph behind.

The Center wasn’t safe, not while the Followers still believed Jacob to be a defector, so Jacob went to the only place he had left. 

He went home.

It was a long walk, but walk he did, tired, thirsty, and hungry, though he felt none of this things, and so he walked until his feet touched familiar dirt and he was climbing the hill to his cabin.

The trees were bare, no leaves left to hide attackers, barely enough birds to make a sound, though Jacob had heard them so clearly that morning.

He somehow expected Pratt to be there, for the inside to be full of light and warmth, Pratt sitting on his couch, waiting, smiling, ecstatic to see him, but the house was dark and cold, and of course, Pratt was not there. Why would he be?

Jacob crossed the threshold, the walls offering shelter from the wind, but little from the cold, and he pulled his gun from its holster. Pratt would get his message, Pratt would come to find him, eventually.

With a grunt Jacob sat down, resting his pistol on his leg, and he began to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re in the final stretch! Only got two chapters left, neither of which will be as long as this one, and by my count we are one Seed short in this story. Keep your eyes open for Ms.Faith in the next chapter! Also, who doesn’t love a good reunion?  
The Deputy in this story is based off my Far Cry Dep, Ms. Alastair “Avery” Cheshire of the Hope County Sheriff’s Department.


	13. Chapter 13

“Eli is dead.”

These were the first words he spoke when he heard the crunching of footsteps in the doorway. He wished he had something better to say, something that sounded less hollow, something a little warmer for the man he’d killed his brother for, but he didn’t.

Pratt stopped in the doorway, and when Jacob raise his head to look at him, he didn’t look quite right; his uniform was disrupted by the sling around his left arm under an unzipped coat and he didn’t smile as he looked at Jacob sitting on the couch, dark brown eyes lowering to the pistol, then raising back to Jacob’s face.

“You think I’d shoot you?” Jacob asked quietly.

“No.”

Hearing his voice, after days of being without it, pricked the numbness that had settled in Jacob’s chest, rousing whatever had died there when he’d stabbed Joseph, and he wanted Pratt to be closer, wanted him to warm the cold that had settled into his bones, but Pratt didn’t move.

“Pratt?” Jacob stood up, barely feeling his legs, sore with cold, his pistol held limply at his side.

“Where’s Joseph? We didn’t find him at the Wolf’s Den,” Pratt tilted his head, and Jacob could see the wariness in his eyes, just on the edge of distrust, a lack of warmth he had not seen in a while, and if Pratt was not all Jacob had left, he might have been angry.

“Joseph is dead.”

Pratt’s eyes widened, lips parting in surprise, the quietest of “what?”s sneaking out of his mouth, and if Jacob hadn’t just killed his brother in cold blood, he might have laughed.

“How?” Pratt’s eyes moved down to the pistol, then to the blood on Jacob’s hands, like he would be able to see if any of it was Joseph’s, but red was red, and Jacob’s fingers were covered in it.

“I killed him,” Jacob could feel Joseph’s fingers on his arms, struggling, bruising, “I killed him for you.”

And Pratt finally moved, stepping forward, reaching for him, and his hand was like a brand against his skin, heat that burned away the ghost of Joseph’s touch, making Jacob shiver as Pratt grasped his arm, pulling him closer.

Jacob went, willingly, desperately, as the ice began to shift in his veins, and he wrapped his arms around Pratt, trying to gentle, trying to be conscious of Pratt’s injury, but wanting to squeeze so tight that they’d meld into one as he pulled Pratt against him.

Pratt let him, his good arm reaching up to wrap around Jacob’s neck, pulling him down so Pratt could press their cheeks together, his breath warm against Jacob’s frozen skin.

“Jacob,” he whispered into Jacob’s ear, voice on the edge of shaky, “Oh Jacob, I never would have asked you to do that.”

Jacob’s arms tightened, his fingers twisting into the familiar softness of Pratt’s uniform, and if he was hurting Pratt, Pratt didn’t tell him, just let Jacob hold onto him as he began to shake. He’d cried when he’d killed Joseph, cried when he’d buried him, and if he’d had tears to spare, he would have cried them into Pratt’s shoulder, but his eyes were dry as he held Pratt, safe and secure, and let his heart pump heat back into his limbs, from the top of his head, to the tips of his toes, pain blooming into relief as he could finally feel the press of Pratt against him.

“You’re freezing,” Pratt murmured, warm fingers brushing against the skin above Jacob’s collar, “We should go home, get you warm.”

Jacob shook his head, pressing it down against Pratt’s throat, his voice ragged as he whispered, “No, not yet.”

“Ok,” Pratt’s voice was soft, his fingers moving up to run into Jacob’s hair, “Ok, just breathe, Jacob.”

Jacob inhaled, the breath stuttering in his lungs, and it was second nature to listen for Pratt, to match their breathing, feeling Pratt’s calm pulse under his lips, and his shaking slowed, his grip on Pratt loosening enough that Pratt could move, shifting the arm stuck between them.

“Sorry,” Jacob mumbled, but he couldn’t make himself pull back all the way, and Pratt shushed him quietly, pressing his lips against Jacob’s forehead.

“It’s okay, it’s all right, are you hurt? You’re covered in blood.”

Jacob had blood on his hands and down his front, from splatter and holding his brother, but it didn’t matter.

“It’s not mine. Took a bullet to the leg, back at the Visitor’s Center, but it’s nothing,” Jacob was sure he’d fucked his leg up even worse with all the shit he’d been doing, and he could feel the pain again now, he knew it would be agony later, but Pratt didn’t need to worry about him.

“What about you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Pratt nodded, pressing his forehead against Jacob’s, an echo of Joseph, and Jacob’s fingers still trembled as he touched Pratt’s shoulder

“You’re sure?” he wanted to touch more of Pratt’s uniform, but the sling was in the way.

“Do you want to see for yourself?”

“Can I?”

“There is little I wouldn’t give you right now, Jacob.”

The words warmed him even as Pratt pulled back, and Jacob let go of him as Pratt finally, finally, sat down on the couch, giving Jacob a small smile and the picture was complete.

“Come here,” Pratt beckoned him, swinging his legs up onto the couch, and Jacob went, perching on the edge of the couch, hesitant to reach out in case touching Pratt shattered the illusion.

Pratt shuffled a bit so he could lay down on his back, his coat falling away from his shoulders, and he gestured to the sling.

“Undo this.”

Jacob’s stiff fingers went to the clasp at the top of the sling, leaning over Pratt, and he squeezed the release of the clip and gently eased the sling away from Pratt’s arm, freeing it.

“Careful,” he murmured to himself, and Pratt laughed, a quiet, breathy sound.

“The shirt next.”

Jacob unbuttoned the uniform, hands finally steady, safe in the knowledge that Pratt was okay, but still wanting to see for himself the damage he had done. Pratt was calm beneath him, his free hand resting idly above him, his brown hair haloed out around him, dark against the brick colored couch, and Jacob had to stop after the first two buttons as his fingers brushed against metal.

“You keep ‘em warm for me?” he asked quietly, already feeling the answer as he pressed his thumb against one of his dog tags, pressing it down into Pratt’s chest.

“Yeah,” Pratt smiled at him, and Jacob leaned down to press his lips to the tags, tasting the warm metal before he pulled back to continue unbuttoning Pratt’s uniform.

He only had to unbutton it half way before he could push the fabric aside. Pratt’s shoulder was bandaged in white, not a speck of red to be seen, and Jacob reached out to run fingers over the material, and here too he leaned forward to press a kiss.

Despite how Pratt’s joking about them matching had irritated him earlier, Jacob did feel a twisted sort of satisfaction that he’d hit Pratt exactly where he’d asked him to, a mark for them to share, and he grinned against the white.

“Knew I was a good shot.”

“A perfect shot.”

_Perfect, Jacob._

Jacob closed his eyes, turning his head and resting it on Pratt’s chest, lowering his weight down, keeping it on Pratt’s legs and stomach. If he was heavy, Pratt didn’t complain, and Jacob felt fingers brush into his hair.

He knew they couldn’t stay long, that the cold would get to them soon, but for now Jacob just let the sound of Pratt’s heart beat through his mind.

_Pratt, Pratt, Pratt._

He let it consume his senses, fill up the space inside him that the past few days had left empty, and then he opened his mouth and began to tell Pratt what had happened. Eli, Joseph, all of it. His voice was rough as he spoke, telling Pratt about the Wolf’s Den, the Elk’s Lounge, Tammy and her distrust, Nora Hunter and her dead son, Wheaty and the CD player, and the grave he’d dug for his brother.

Pratt was silent beneath him, but his fingers continued to stroke through Jacob’s hair, never stilling, heartbeat calm beneath Jacob’s ear, and Jacob had no doubts about his choice. There was guilt and a terrible grief somewhere in him, something he would have to deal with and soon, but for now Pratt held the feelings at bay and Jacob fell silent, content.

The sky was starting to grow lighter outside, the dawn coming much later in December, giving the world outside a faint blue glow before the sun came over the mountains, and Jacob was cold again, and this time he could feel it. His leg was killing him and his fingers were growing stiff again, but it wasn’t until Pratt gave a shudder under him, shifting to push closer to Jacob that Jacob knew it was time to go.

“We need to go home,” he murmured, and Pratt’s fingers finally censed their movement.

“There are a lot of people pissed at you.”

“That’s nothing new.”

Pratt laughed, and Jacob began to move, lifting his weight off of Pratt and pushing himself up to standing again.

“Seriously though,” Pratt sat up, smiling, gesturing at the buttons of his shirt, “They don’t know yet, I couldn’t risk the truth getting back to Eli.”

“They gonna shoot at me?” Jacob leaned down to button Pratt’s uniform back up, brushing his fingers along his dog tags one more time before he concealed them below green fabric and pulled Pratt’s coat more securely around him.

“They might.”

“You could send a message.”

“You don’t want to show me your bullet dodging skills?”

“I think you’d find them lacking at the moment, I’d hate to embarrass myself.”

Pratt laughed again, louder, fuller this time, and he reached up to tug Jacob down again. Jacob cracked a grin, leaning further in, happy to taste Pratt for the first time again while he was laughing, the sound muffled against Jacob’s lips. He tasted as sweet as Jacob remembered, and Jacob wanted nothing more than to lie back down and kiss Pratt until he couldn’t feel his lips, but it was time to move.

He helped Pratt resling his arm, then pulled him up, both of them starting to shiver now that they were apart. Pratt reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a set of keys, offering them out to Jacob, and Jacob took them, frowning.

“Shit, you drove here with one arm?”

“I certainly didn’t walk.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t crash.”

“I’m a man of many abilities, and I’d very much like to go before we freeze.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond, following Pratt out of the house. It was still snowing, and he had a feeling, as he started down the hill, sparing a glance back at his cabin, that he wouldn’t be back.

Pratt had arrived in a truck, tires chained in preparation for winter, and Jacob got into the driver’s seat while Pratt slid into shotgun. His hand was smacked away when he reached over to help Pratt with his seatbelt, a muttered “fuck off” bringing a smile to his lips and he started up the car, air instantly blasting through the vents, cold at first, but quick to warm up.

Jacob backed them up, turning the truck around, then headed down the frozen dirt path back towards civilization. Pratt unclipped his radio from his belt and called into the roadblocks and the Center.

“Morgantown en route to Center, Jacob Seed is with me.”

He paused, licking his lips, thoughtful, then added:

“Don’t shoot him.”

Jacob chuckled, the responses from the roadblocks and Center coming in with varying degrees of confusion and poorly concealed anger, but all were affirmative, trusting Pratt.

Pratt put down the radio, and leaned back in his seat, turning his head to look at Jacob.

“I have a surprise waiting for you back home.”

“Yeah?” Jacob glanced at him, then back at the road.

“Yeah, you’ve been real good.”

Jacob smiled.

“You gonna tell me what it is?”

“Not much of a surprise if I tell you now.”

“Can I get a hint?”

Pratt snorted, “What are we, in elementary school? Just drive, Jacob.”

Jacob shut his mouth, the smile lingering until they reached the first roadblock, the expression slipping down into something more wary as he slowed down. The Followers didn’t move to stop him, but fuck, if looks could kill.

“Stop the truck.”

Jacob hit the breaks, jerking them to a stop, gritting his teeth as everything in him told him to keep moving, but Pratt’s order kept him in place.

Pratt rolled the passenger side window down, cold air blowing in from outside, and one of the Followers stepped up, eyes moving from Jacob to Pratt, trapped between confusion, anger, and affection.

“Everything all right, Pratt?” he asked, guarded, reaching up to rest a gloved hand on the truck.

“Better than all right,” Pratt gave the Follower a smile, one full of genuine warmth, and it was like he’d hit a switch in the Follower’s mind and the tension left his shoulders, relaxing as he looked into Pratt’s eyes.

“You’ve heard the news about Eli?”

“Yes, we heard your announcement.”

“Good, there will be a meeting tonight at the Center. The Deputy will be speaking. Everyone is to attend. The Deputy’s troops will be taking over guard duty.”

The Follower nodded, returning Pratt’s smile, and he stepped back from the truck, “We’ll be there.”

“Good,” Pratt looked over the Follower’s head to the other guards, giving them a nod, “Stay warm.”

He looked at Jacob.

“Let’s go.”

Jacob’s foot left the break, and they rolled through the road block before he pressed on the gas again, Pratt rolling his window back up as they picked up speed.

“We’ve got a meeting?” Jacob glanced at Pratt.

“Yes, The Deputy wants to talk to the troops about Eli.”

“You could have just told them through the radio.”

“I was shot,” Pratt said, the words not unkind, but still stinging Jacob’s ears like a slap, “I need people to see me, especially after hearing you’re with me.”

Jacob nodded, grip tightening on the steering wheel, and he kept silent as they stopped at each roadblock, repeating the process, Followers glaring holes into Jacob’s skull before Pratt put them at ease. There were no Chosen among the Followers, which was unusual, Jacob had expected to see one of Pratt’s most loyal by now, but the roadblocks were free of red, and that set Jacob on edge.

“Where are the Chosen?”

“Some are at the Center, some are at the Wolf’s Den.”

“None on guard?”

“They aren’t needed.”

“You aren’t worry about a Whitetail attack? The rest trying to go out in some blaze of glory?”

“Honestly, not really.”

Jacob looked at him again, and Pratt had a gleam in his eye, like he knew something Jacob didn’t, and that something because very obvious when they approached the gates of the Center and found more than a dozen cars and trucks parked outside, parked in the grass, orderly and straight, and Jacob could already see a large amount of people inside the Gates, moving through the yard, bundled up in coats.

“Is The Deputy already here?” Jacob stopped the car outside the gates, uneasy.

“Nope,” Pratt grinned, “Whitehorse is.”

Jacob’s heart stuttered, a high pitch laugh sounding in the back of his mind.

_Faith._

“Keep going.”

Jacob accelerated harder than he meant to, the truck reeving under him, and he quickly pumped the breaks before he alarmed the Followers and he kept their entrance through the gates slow, Followers moving out of his way or stopping to stare as he came to a stop in front of the Center.

He could see the Chosen now, a pair of them posted at the Center’s entrance, and they could see him. Two semi-automatics were up and trained on him, and thoughts of Faith took a momentary backseat as Jacob tensed, Pratt’s “no shooting” order the only thing between him and their fury. He couldn’t blame them—if their roles had been reversed, Jacob would have taken the no shooting order as a challenge to kill them with his bare hands.

“Slow and steady now, Jacob, wouldn’t want to startle anyone,” Pratt reached around and turned off the car for him, pulling the key free, and Jacob could hear the smile in his voice.

“You enjoyin’ this?”

“Just a bit,” Pratt opened his door and slid out of the truck, Jacob following suit a moment later, keeping his eyes locked on the Chosen.

“Guns down, we’re all friends here,” Pratt called out, closing the truck door and moving ahead, approaching the Chosen as they lowered the rifles.

“Pratt,” they stepped closer to him, and Jacob bared his teeth as they moved to put themselves between him and Pratt.

“It’s fine,” Pratt reached out to touch one of their shoulders, “You will hear more of it tonight, but Jacob is no traitor, and he shot me under orders.”

The Chosen continued to eye Jacob, keeping their weapons pointed down but staying tense, their knuckles going white on their rifles, daring him to make a wrong move.

“Where’s Whitehorse?” Pratt asked them, and thoughts of Faith returned.

Was she here? She had to be-- Joseph said Whitehorse kept her close, Pratt said he had a surprise for him.

He stepped up closer to Pratt, to the Chosen, and they shuffled closer together, further blocking his path to Pratt.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Pratt’s warning was low, for the Chosen only, and they retreated the steps they had taken, murmuring a response that Jacob couldn’t hear, but made Pratt smile slightly before he dropped his hand away from his Chosen’s shoulder and stepped between them to return to Jacob.

“Whitehorse?” he asked again, looking back at them.

“He’s out back by the fire,” one of them answered him, angling his head towards the side of the building.

Pratt nodded his thanks, and stepped away, Jacob wordlessly following, not sparing the Chosen another glance.

Pratt’s other Followers treated him with similar hostility as they moved around the Center, stopping to glare, hissing quietly, Whitehorse’s Followers intermixed with them, looking caught between curious and angry. They all knew Pratt, no matter who they currently served, but no one made a move to block him, so Pratt said nothing to them, walking to the back without stopping with Jacob on his heels.

Someone had cleared the backyard of snow and gathered enough wood to keep a roaring bonfire going. There was large crowd gathered around it, talking and laughing, and Jacob could smell something sweet and alcoholic in the air and saw people holding steaming cups of what he assumed was mauled wine.

“Is this a party?” Jacob asked Pratt.

“Kinda, yeah, it’s the closest thing we’ve had to one in months,” Pratt looked back at him, “Tis the season and everything.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Jacob had quite frankly forgotten about Christmas, which was still half a month away, and he finally asked Pratt: “Is Faith here?”

“Yes.”

_Yes._

“Thank you.”

Pratt laughed, a little surprised, “You’re welcome. Shall we go find her?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, not that Jacob ever would have said no, and Jacob had to move quickly to stop himself from getting separated from Pratt as Pratt began to move through the crowd.

People stepped out of his way, then took an extra step back when they saw Jacob close behind him, eyes widened, and Jacob suddenly remembered how much blood he had on his clothes and hands, and he began to scratch at the red on his fingers as he followed Pratt, trying to peel away some of the dried blood, as if he could get it all off before Faith saw him.

Jacob saw Faith before she saw him. She was standing a few feet away from the fire, manning a large pot that was the main source of the sweet, wine smell. She had a ladle in one hand and standing beside her was Whitehorse, who looked older than Jacob remembered, but was smiling, mouth moving as he talked to her, holding a steaming styrofoam cup, and as Jacob watched, Faith laughed. He could hear the high pitched sound over the crowd, and Pratt walking in front of him was the only thing stopping him from barreling through the crowd at top speed.

“Sheriff!” Pratt called out as they approached, and Whitehorse turned and Faith looked up.

Jacob watched how her eyes widened when she saw him and the way his name formed on her lips and he gave her the biggest grin his lips would allow, his cheeks aching.

Faith dropped the ladle into the pot, then she was running and Jacob was opening his arms to catch her as she threw herself at him, laughing, arms wrapping around his neck and legs wrapping around his middle as he lifted her up, feeling all his weariness and leg pain vanish.

“Jacob!” she gasped, squeezing him tight, “Oh, Jake, are you all right?! I’m so glad to see you!”

She pulled her face back to look at him, both of them unable to get their smiles under control, and Jacob was glad the universe had saved Faith for last—no fear, no dread, just pure relief and glee that hurt his cheeks.

“I’m good, great even,” Jacob told her, chuckling, “Pratt’s been takin’ real good care of me. How ‘bout you? Are you all right?”

Faith nodded, then seemed to choke on her words a little and pressed her face back against Jacob’s throat and Jacob felt overwhelmed by the reality of finally seeing her, of being reminded that while Joseph was dead, he had two other siblings, two that had always come second to Joseph but were now the only family he had left.

He held onto Faith for a long time, and he could feel her crying, and he wished he had the tears to shed with her, but he was out for the moment, so instead he just held her as tight as she held him, keeping firmly together. Jacob felt Pratt leave his side, moving to speak to Whitehorse, and he knew he’d have to eventually let Faith go, but he’d earned a few moments to just hold her.

“Jake,” she whispered in his ear, then whispered it again, the name a mix of relief and awe and just _feeling_, and Jacob squeezed her tighter.

“I’m here,” he told her, _I’m here for you, like I should have been all along._

He finally, gingerly, lowered her back to the ground when the pain in his leg began to return, no amount of endorphins keeping that pain at bay after everything Jacob had done to fuck it up, and Faith unwrapped her legs from his waist, pulling back and sliding her small hands into his large ones, her smile blindly white as she beamed up at him, her cheeks red with the cold and the blood that had rushed to her face as she cried.

She looked very much the same as when he’d last seen her, no missing teeth or scars on her cheek like John, but she no longer wore the white dress she’d favored, having replaced it with jeans and a large, almost neon green coat that looked incredibly warm, and her hair was shorter, cut to just brush her shoulders.

Jacob imagined he looked like absolute shit in comparison, bloody and run down, hair and beard too long, but she still beamed at him, holding onto his hands that were still sticky and red, and he loved her so much.

“How are you?” he asked again, glancing over her shoulder to see Pratt and Whitehorse talking, Pratt holding a cup in his nonslinged hand while Whitehorse ladled wine into it.

“I’m good, I’m really good,” she swung their hands between them, “A lot of things happened at the beginning that weren’t so good, but the Followers have been really welcoming, and I like what I’m doing and…” she squeezed his fingers, “And now I get to see you.”

Jacob returned the squeeze, smiling down at her, “Sorry I’m not looking so good.”

“That’s okay, I know you’ve had a strange few days; I’ve heard a lot about you from the Followers.”

“All good things I hope.”

Faith laughed, shaking her head, and Jacob’s smile widened. He could imagine the kind of shit the Followers had said about him during his time in the Wolf’s Den.

“Jacob.”

Jacob looked over Faith’s head again and Pratt was beckoning him over.

“Come meet the Sheriff.”

Jacob went, dropping one of Faith’s hands but keeping hold of the other as Faith stepped with him, returning to their Enforcers.

Whitehorse was eying him over, and Jacob reflexively straightened his spine, standing tall next to Pratt. He had the strangest urge to impress as Whitehorse looked him over, like he was meeting Pratt’s father, even though he’d met Whitehorse before, and he heard Faith giggle beside him.

“So,” Whitehorse started out with, “Staci says ya shot him.”

Shit.

Jacob opened his mouth, but no words came to mind, and beside him a laugh was startled out of Pratt.

“Well?” Whitehorse prompted when Jacob didn’t say anything, but there was a gleam in his eye now, amused, and Jacob’s brain kicked back on.

“Yeah, he was being mouthy.”

“We’ve all been there.”

Whitehorse cracked a smile while Pratt made a sound of outrage, unconvincing as he fought not to laugh, he’d laughed so much tonight, and Faith’s hand was in his and everything was perfect.

Then his vision went a little hazy, his stomach dropped, and Jacob’s leg finally gave up the ghost, and he thumped down onto the ground, landing heavily on his rear, black spots popping in his vision as the pain in his leg grew searing.

“Fuck,” he swore, and Faith was kneeling beside him, wincing—he had squeezed her hand as he’d dropped.

“Shit, Jacob,” Pratt was on his other side, tossing his cup of wine, still full, to the side so he could reach out and grip Jacob’s shoulder.

The crowd around them had gone silent, and Jacob tried very hard to bit back a groan as he shifted and his leg told him to knock it the fuck off.

“My leg,” he hissed out through gritted teeth, and Pratt scowled.

“You said it was nothing.”

“May have been wrong about that.”

“Jake,” Faith sighed, and for a moment she and Pratt talked over each other, scolding him, but Jacob got the basic gist. Yeah, yeah, he was an idiot, etc, _fuck_ his leg hurt.

Whitehorse was the one to actually call for a doctor, telling a nearby Follower to “get this damn boy a medic” before he barked at two Chosen to come help Jacob up.

Jacob couldn’t hear what Pratt said to the Chosen as they approached, his voice low and threatening, but from the way they pulled him to his feet, careful and slow, made Jacob think that Pratt was not in the mood for grudges.

“I need to stay out here, the Deputy will be here soon,” Pratt told him when Jacob was up, resting all his weight on one leg and the Chosen holding him up. Pratt looked caught between annoyed and concerned, an attractive look on him, and Jacob loathed to be separated from him, but he nodded, teeth still gritted as a fresh wave of pain racked his leg.

“I’ll come with you,” Faith said from beside him, and Pratt nodded, glancing at her, then back at Jacob.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try,” Jacob gave him a pained smile, then the Chosen were pulling him away, supporting him as they moved towards the Center, and it took Jacob a moment, but he recognized them as the two female Chosen who’d helped his suit up before the Lumber Mill.

A medic met them at the door, holding it open, and Jacob was limped into one of the Center’s actual medical rooms. It was relatively empty with only a few injured from the attack on the Visitor’s Center lying about, and Jacob was deposited down onto an empty bed away from the other patients, groaning as he went down.

The Chosen stepped back, and the medic stepped forward, cutting Jacob’s jeans off his injured leg, Faith hovering nearby.

“Well,” the doctor looked down at the leg, which was all sorts of nasty colors and Jacob winced as he touched it, “It’s not infected, but to say you’ve inflamed it and pulled the stitches would be an understatement. What the fuck did you do, run a marathon?”

“I was busy,” Jacob was back to gritting his teeth as the doctor touched the skin.

“This hurt?”

“Yeah, it fucking hurts.”

“I’m gonna numb it.”

Jacob closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the pillow. He felt pressure on his hand and he squeezed Faith’s fingers until the pain in his leg began to dull, not quite like it had with the cold, but similar, and he let out a long breath as he lost feeling in the limb.

When he opened his eyes again, the Chosen had gone, and the doctor was prepping a needle for stitching. Faith sat down on the edge of the bed on Jacob’s good side, brushing her thumb over his fingers.

“All right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded, watching the doctor, who poked Jacob’s legs a few times to make sure the numbness had fully set in.

He looked away as the doctor set to work stitching the bullet wound back up and his eyes settled on Faith, who was shedding her coat, revealing a winter, snowflake sweater underneath.

“I’d tell you you need to be more careful, but I’m sure you’ll get an earful later,” she said, giving him a small smile, taking his hand in both of hers once the coat was off.

“Yeah, I’m sure Pratt will let me know,” Jacob returned the smile faintly, then let it drop away.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Faith.”

Faith’s smile dropped too, and she nodded, squaring her shoulders like she knew what was coming, bracing for it.

“Joseph is dead.”

It hurt to say, in a way it hadn’t when he told Pratt, and even though she was ready, the words still knocked the breath out of his sister.

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes,” Jacob knew there was no point in lying.

She nodded, shakily, then her eyes dropped to their hands, and she squeezed his fingers hard, swallowing like she might cry again, and they sat in silence as Jacob’s words and deeds sank in, the doctor working quietly on Jacob’s leg.

When Faith finally did look up again, her eyes were wet, but there were no tears on her face.

“I’m not really sure what to say,” she admitted, and Jacob nodded—even if he had words to say, they’d be stuck in his throat, and they lingered again in silence before Faith spoke again.

“Joseph wasn’t going to fit into this new world, was he?”

Jacob shook his head.

“I feel…” Faith hesitated, “I’m not sure, I feel like, like I’ve betrayed him, by loving the Followers, by finding a new family, but also… I don’t know, I feel like a weight has been lifted.”

“I’ve always wanted his approval,” Faith continued on when Jacob didn’t speak, “but I never felt like I had it, and well… of course I loved Joseph, and he helped all of us, but,” she looked down at their hands again, brushing her fingers over the blood on Jacob’s, “Joseph didn’t always see us as we were. He liked to see the ideal versions of us, but I don’t think we ever could have lived up to that.”

She was able to put into words the feelings Jacob had felt back in the Wolf’s Den, when Joseph had spoken of his killing, how he’d forced emotions upon Jacob. He’d wanted the older brother who cared for people’s lives, who was disgusted by the idea of killing. He’d wanted the little brother who was dutiful and humble, not the charismatic leader swimming in vice with a big house and a checkered past. He’d wanted an innocent little sister, a virgin in white with a soft voice and smile and no troubled past or tract marks up her arms.

Jacob loved Joseph, and Joseph had loved him, but he and the rest of his siblings were not the versions that Joseph had wanted. Hell, Jacob wasn’t even religious and John wasn’t much better.

“He’d hate the person I’ve become,” Jacob said quietly and Faith looked back up at him.

“He’d hate me too,” Faith’s voice was just as quiet, “he use to talk so much about sin, and I don’t know I just… I just want to be happy, and I’m happier than I have been in a long time.”

Jacob knew the feeling.

“We should have done more for you, Faith,” he said, mourning the time they’d wasted.

Faith shrugged, smiling a little, “We were all lost.”

“But now we’ve been found?”

Faith laughed, and Jacob joined her, and her hands were warm around his, as small as they was, and it was so good to see her happy.

“Anyway,” Faith swallowed down the feelings in her throat and smiled at him, “there’s still time, it’s not over for us.”

“We still the Seed family?”

“I don’t know, I’ve actually been thinking of going back to being Rachel,” Faith’s smile turned a little hesitant, “I’d like to reach out to some of my old friends, Tracy maybe… she was always there for me before, and when the End comes, she’ll see The Deputy was right.”

“You believe that’s gonna happen? The end?” it was just a question, no ridicule behind it, and Faith nodded.

“Yes, I really do.”

Jacob thought of Pratt, then shrugged.

“I guess we’ll see. If you wanna go back to being Rachel, you’ll still be our sister.”

Faith beamed at him, squeezing his hand, “Thank you, Jacob.”

“Yeah,” Jacob returned the squeeze, “Just be careful, okay?”

“I’m not the one running around with bullet wounds.”

“Touché”

“We should go see John.”

Jacob’s smile widened, “A little family reunion?”

“Yeah, I think it would be good,” Faith nodded, “I know that we’ll have to deal more with what’s happened, with Joseph, but for now, it seems like we’re about to win this fight, and uh, I think we should celebrate, being back together.”

Jacob nodded, the idea of being all together, John, Jacob, and Faith, making his stomach warm, and he pulled Faith down onto the closet thing he could give to a hug with a doctor still poking at his leg.

Faith pressed her face into his chest, then shifted to settle down beside him, a warm weight pressed against his side, and Jacob felt how heavy his eyelids were, and it felt like weeks since he’d last slept.

The doctor seemed to be chugging along without any impute from him, and Faith seemed content to lie next to him, quiet in her thoughts, and so he let his eyes close, and let himself drift into sleep, safe in his home with his sister.

It was dark when Jacob woke, and Faith was gone from his side. His leg was aching dully, the numbing agent wearing off, and the curtain around his bed had been drawn, cutting him off from the other patients. The main light in the room was turned off and the windows were mostly dark, but Jacob could hear people outside, still talking and laughing, soft guitar music just audible through the wall. He’d slept through the entire day, but the Followers were still celebrating.

It took him a moment to realize what had woken him, his mind a step or two behind as he yawned, but he felt the bed shift, then a warmth brushing against his hip, and Pratt settled down beside him, sitting with his legs crossed and his body pressing heat against Jacob’s side.

From this side, Jacob couldn’t see the sling holding his arm, and in the semi-darkness, Pratt’s lines looked soft and relaxed.

“Pratt,” he said into the silence, just because he could, because he wanted to, and Pratt turned his head to look down at him.

“Are you okay?”

Jacob nodded.

“For real this time?”

Jacob half smiled and nodded again, and Pratt sighed.

“Stupid man.”

“Sorry.”

Pratt’s lips twitched, and Jacob wanted to kiss him, his heart warm in his chest.

“Wanna lay down?”

“You’re taking up most of the bed. I’m not as small as Faith.”

Jacob shifted, his leg aching in protest, but he ignored it as he used his arms to shuffle over on the bed to make room for Pratt, who laughed quietly, but lay down on the space Jacob had created, lying on his side, on his uninjured shoulder, joining Jacob under the blankets. Jacob stayed on his back, head turned to keep his eyes on Pratt.

“You missed the Deputy’s speech,” Pratt told him, only a few inches of space between them.

“Did she talk about what a hero I am?”

“Yeah, big damn hero.”

Jacob grinned, “Did she clear up any confusion about my loyalties?”

“Yes. The Followers weren’t exactly happy about that part, but Eli is dead and we have a lot to celebrate,” Pratt smiled, “You really were perfect, Jacob.”

Pride swelled in his chest, and he asked Pratt for a kiss. Pratt hadn’t drank any of the wine he’d poured himself earlier, but at the press of his lips, Jacob felt almost tipsy, buzzing, and he scooted closer to Pratt, taking away the inches between them and Pratt let him kiss him over and over and over and over and over again in the dark, with the laughter and music muffled by the walls.

This was home, this was paradise, the garden, and Jacob kissed Pratt’s lips plump, then kissed him some more. He wanted Pratt on top of him, wanted Pratt’s arms around him, to be surrounded, but they were both injured and he was content to just taste, and Pratt let him, giving him quiet moans and small sighs as Jacob licked the sweetness from his mouth.

There was no one and nothing to interrupt them, and Jacob only pulled back, laughing quietly, his cock hard and ignored and his lips red and swallow, when Pratt couldn’t keep back a yawn.

“Tired?” Jacob asked, watching as Pratt fought down a second yawn, rolling onto his back, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Been a long few days,” Pratt answered, rubbing at his eyes.

“You got somewhere else to be tonight? Any speeches to give?”

“No.”

“Then now’s as good a time as any to get some sleep.”

Pratt nodded, moving his hand down to rest on his stomach, and Jacob leaned in to press his lips against Pratt’s cheek, kissing a line down to his jaw, then back up.

“I can’t sleep if you do that,” Pratt chided, and Jacob smiled, pressing his lips to Pratt’s ear.

“I’ll leave you be,” Jacob assured him, voice quiet against Pratt’s skin, “I’ll let you sleep, I’ll stay right here to make sure you’re safe, but I just want to tell you that you have me, heart and soul.”

Pratt tried to turn his head, but Jacob pressed closer, his forehead against Pratt’s temple.

“I love you, I love you more than I thought I’d ever be capable of.”

His heart ached with the words, and Pratt was quiet, still beside him.

“I don’t need anything from you,” Jacob murmured, closing his eyes, “Just a place to be. I reckon things will be changin’ around here real fast, real soon, and I just need you to keep me with you. You hollowed me out, put yourself inside me, the least you could do is keep me.”

“That’s all you want?”

“That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Pratt shifted again, and Jacob let him, pulling back and opening his eyes to the smile that was stretching across Pratt’s face, almost vicious in its pleasure, and he felt something purr in him, satisfied.

“You’re mine,” Pratt didn’t say it like a question, because it wasn’t anymore.

“Yes.”

“And we’ve won.”

“Yes.”

Pratt’s teeth peeked out from behind his lips, then he was kissing Jacob again and Jacob was again more than content with it, to just take what he was given.

It was another hour before Pratt was asleep. Every time he pulled away from Jacob, settling down and closing his eyes, he seemed to rethink it and he’d pull Jacob in for more, sometimes soft and sweet, sometimes a little more biting, and Jacob stayed at his side, as he said he would, until Pratt finally stopped kissing him and let himself drift, falling asleep even as the party continued on outside.

Jacob was tired too, even after sleeping for hours, and his leg hurt again, but he stayed awake, watching the ceiling, listening to Pratt breathe and the music from outside.

His sister was outside somewhere, with Whitehorse and the Deputy, and John was somewhere down south with Joey Hudson, no doubt having their own celebration.

The Collapse was in the back of his mind, his dream about the Deputy still there, waiting to surface when morning came. Jacob still didn’t know if he believed it, but he’d prepare for it, if that’s what Pratt wanted, and, well, if Pratt was gonna spend the rest of his life in a bunker…

“Fuck,” he murmured in the dark, “Guess I’ll follow you right down into it then.”

Pratt didn’t wake, and Jacob closed his eyes, content to wait for the morning to think about the Collapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! More of an epilogue than anything, so I’m gonna go ahead and change this story to complete (since it might take me a while to write this epilogue). 
> 
> I’d like to thank everyone that stuck with the story until the end, and I’m very excited because I’ve never finished a long story like this and I haven’t written this much since middle school, and just, I’m honestly just so happy to have had my passion for writing reignited in the last several months.
> 
> I really hope you’ve all enjoyed this story, and I’ll definitely do some rereading and some technical edits at some point, but I’ve very happy with what I’ve written and maybe, if inspiration sticks with me, I’ll write more oneshots!
> 
> I’d really love any last kudos or comments y’all want to leave, and I’d love to hear if you have a favorite part of the story or a favorite line!! Thank you!!


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